Of Gilded Blood
by Jedi Cosmos
Summary: PotC LotR Legolas falls in Moria - with the One Ring in hand - and vanishes to a different world, where a cursed medallion he picks up along the way is hunted just as fiercely as the ring he now must bear back to Middle-Earth in time to help stop Sauron.
1. warped

of gilded blood  
**prologue || warped**

_Doom_..._doom_..._doom_...

The Balrog of Moria roared in its might as it followed the Fellowship. Legolas glanced back over his shoulder - Frodo, where was Frodo? Grabbing the small Hobbit and pulling him closer, ready to take an arrow for the Ringbearer if necessary, they began to cross the Bridge of Khazad Dum.

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief - they were on the other side - the four Hobbits, the Dwarf, two Men, and...the Wizard. Where was the Istar?

"Mithrandir!" Legolas gasped out, turning, and to his horror finding the wizard still on the bridge, holding his staff high into the air. He felt Frodo twist from his grasp, and before he could bring his mind around the fact, the little one was already halfway distance.

"Frodo!" he heard Aragorn roar, deep anguish in his voice - both for the Istar and the Hobbit - but it seemed as if from far away. Legolas felt himself moving, running with all the elven speed he could muster - surprising himself, for he had felt as if he had no more left to give - and he reached Frodo, grabbing his collar, tugging him back.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, fingers scratching at Legolas' arm as it wounded itself around his neck for a firmer grip.

"No, Frodo," Legolas hissed, pushing him towards safety. "I will go to him - you must leave this place!"

Without glancing back, trusting that Sam or Boromir or someone else would restrain Frodo, he doubled back for the Wizard, now chanting - and by the time Legolas had reached his side, Gandalf had rid the Balrog.

Yet though the monster was out of sight, Legolas felt something prick his senses.... "_Gandalf_!" Before the Wizard could raise his staff once more, two far-reaching whips of flame sped towards him. Legolas did not hesitate. Roughly pushing the Istar down, the elf found his skin burning the next moment, as he fell, fell, fell....

But he was not alone, for the second whip had reached to the hobbit and grabbed him as well - Legolas' heart clenched, and he could only think, _Not Frodo_. Ignoring his pain, his keen eyes sought out the scene on the bridge: Aragorn had come, now, and raised Anduril, fending the tentacle off. Legolas could sense the Balrog's reach diminishing, having fallen too far, and hope swelled him him - and died, as the line of fire wrapped itself, this time, not around Frodo himself, but the chain he bore.

The ring would not make it to Mordor.

He would not live to see day again.

And all in Middle-Earth was lost.

As he lost sight of the Fellowship, falling still further, the second whip had twined itself around the one holding Legolas, and tightened his bonds. But - there! He could see it, rattling in the wind - the chain, and the ring, still in place.

For a long moment, hair in his face, skin tortured, and eyes stinging from the wind, Legolas stared. The ring. The cursed ring.

He reached out and took it into his hand, ripping it from the grasp of the tentacle and holding onto it fiercely. The Balrog continued its descent, and Legolas closed his eyes. It was done. It was over.

Seconds turned to minutes, and Legolas heard a voice echo in the air - softly, faintly - but still there, a firm, feverish chanting, as if timed, and he wondered who it may have been.

_Gandalf._

Everything faded into oblivion.

* * *

A little swagger here, a light step there...one money purse more and Captain Jack Sparrow saw it fit to leave the docks of Port Royal and venture into the town itself.

Oh yes, once they realized exactly who had come... exactly who had stolen their ship... he'd be long gone, and after his own ship, the Black Pearl. But he'd need a crew - _I don't plan on stealing a ship from the colony all by me onesie_. He needed someone both desperate and crazy enough to help him on his way....

**prologue || warped**

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note**: Short prelude.  Hope you like enough to move on :)


	2. setting the stage

of gilded blood  
**chapter I || setting the stage**

_"Paint the town  
Take a bow  
Thank everybody  
You're gonna do it again  
You are the few, the proud  
You are the antibody  
Mind, soul, and zen  
And the world's a stage  
And the end is near  
So push rewind, just in time  
Thank anybody  
You're gonna do it again  
_*Smash Mouth, "Then the Morning Comes"

They ran.

There was nothing else for them to do.

It went by in such a daze; Aragorn half-carried, half-dragged Frodo away, Gandalf following with his staff lit, face bloody. Boromir and Gimli ushered the three other hobbits along in front of them, the man of Gondor swinging his sword madly behind himself to protect the little ones. Orcs drew their bows and shot their arrows – all of which missed their marks, Aragorn observed as if from far away. They did not have the talent that his friend Legolas did – Legolas, who was falling, falling – had fallen – and would not be returning to them.

They burst free from the darkness of Moria – free from the stench of Orc, free from the smog and heat and ash the Balrog had left wafting in its wake, free from the dry and long dead corpses of the slain dwarves within the walls of the mines. But their hearts and throats were tight with pain, and their frantic steps faltered then slowed then stopped. For what seemed to them to be a very short amount of time, all they could do was gasp and sob and tremble, and soon – too soon – Aragorn was telling them they needed to move on, to get to Lothlorien before they were discovered by the enemy.

"Why?" Frodo asked brokenly, even as Sam pulled him to his feet. "We have not the Ring – we have lost both it and Legolas to the depths…." Frodo let out another anguished moan. "What hope we had is lost!"

There was silence that followed Frodo's words, and Merry, Pippin, and Sam seemed to sag with their weight. Aragorn rubbed at his eyes, wiping away the salty rivulets of tears away from his visage.

_This is wrong. _The words rose unbidden in Aragorn's mind. Legolas should not have fallen. The One Ring should not have been lost. But they were gone, and the rest of them weren't, and they had to get to Lothlorien. "We must make it by nightfall," he said, raising his voice and ignoring the thickness he heard in it. "Help me get them up, Boromir."

"Let them have a moment," Boromir replied angrily, beseechingly, looking at Aragorn with hard eyes, as if thinking the Dunedain were heartless. It made Aragorn's blood surge, suddenly, as he looked back into the other man's face.

"No," Aragorn commanded. "We leave, _now_."

"He is right," Gandalf spoke, finally, nodding towards Aragorn, body seeming to tremble at the effort of standing. Aragorn vaguely realized that the wizard was truly…deeply, exhausted. "We must leave. Gather the hobbits, and we shall be on our way. The Lady awaits."

_

* * *

_

William Turner paused for a moment, stilling his moments to lift his head up and listen. Off in the corner, he checked, Master Brown was still dead drunk, sleeping off his hangover as usual. He glanced over his shoulder, then up into the rafters, trying to find the source of what had made the sound – a loud thump it had been, rather odd. Exchanging glances with the donkey, he put the hammer down and wiped his dirty hands on the towel left on the workbench before wandering towards the back of the shop.

It's probably just some stray, he thought, as he opened the door to the back room. Nothing there. Master Brown's room? No…nothing there either. Lastly, he went to his own room. Opening the door, Will blinked, just to make sure what he was seeing was actually there.

Lying on the floor by his bed, looking torn and ragged, was the most ethereal being he'd ever seen. She had long, flowing golden hair, smooth pale skin, and there was a glow emanating from her, though Will was sure he was imagining it.

Slowly…one foot first, then the next…he approached the being and turned the girl over gently, carefully, and looked at her. Well then. She was a little flat, but she was definitely still a girl, Will told himself firmly. Brushing silky hair from the face, Will was once again startled, by two things: One, this girl's face had many similarities to his own, though with obvious differences; and two, she was sleeping with her eyes wide open.

"Agh!" he gasped in horror, jumping back and dropping the girl's head, which landed on the floor with a dull thud.

Just as suddenly as the girl had been found, she woke up. Blinking several times to clear her muddled sight, she groaned and turned over. "Ohhh…" she hissed, lifting a slender hand to her head, "what…happened?" She paused, her hand coming down a little as she thought, before she turned to Will and asked, sounding not even slightly vulnerable, "Who are you?"

Will, who had progressively walked backwards in order to give the woman her space, bowed from his place by the door politely, unsure of what else to do. "My name is William Turner, my lady." He paused. "May I ask as to what it was you were doing in my room?"

"W-What?" the lady sputtered after a few moments of staring disbelievingly at him. Then her beautiful face grew flushed – with anger? "I am not a woman!"

"You aren't?" Will asked, taken aback and forgetting his manners. "But I was sure…you're so…."

The young woman – no, man, Will corrected himself – snarled in his direction. "What am I doing here? What is this place? Why do you have my face?"

"It's my face," Will said indignantly, drawing himself up straight. Well then. If this woman – man – wanted to claim his face, then there would be a good use for his swords after all.

"I'm several hundred years older than you," the blond boy said to Will condescendingly, "and assuming that you are one of the human race, I believe it is you who is at fault here."

Will said nothing in reply. Minutes of silence passed between them before the blond shook his head, face losing its slackened hue, and slowly he began to speak again. "We don't look identical – our eyes, hair, and skin are all different. I am an Elf," the blond finally revealed, realizing the blank look for one who had not ever met one.

The words brought no comprehension to Will.

Legolas frowned at what he decided was a very dumb human, and got to his feet unsteadily. As he did, something that he hadn't realized he had been holding fell out of his grip to the floor below. Picking it up, he realized it was the ring. His memory flared.

We were in Moria…the Balrog…. His hands trembled as he remembered falling, and the pain… and the ring. Wherever he was, the ring was far from Sauron's clutches, at least. But it was now in his. What if…how soon would it be until the ring corrupted him…? For he was not so vain to believe he would resist the darkness any better than Isildur, any better than Gandalf or Elrond or Galadriel would have…. He had to get it back to Frodo. Slowly, he put the chain to his neck and shut the latch, letting it go to hang heavily on his chest. It thumped against his skin before settling, the smooth metal cool even to his elven senses.

"You're hurt," the human finally said thickly to Legolas, eyes looking over the battered form. "Rest for now; I shall go retrieve some bandages."

"I'm absolutely fine," Legolas said stubbornly, even as he lay back on the mattress. Wincing as his numerous cuts made contact with the crisp sheets, he closed his eyes and found himself both surprised and grateful at his lack of massive injury. It could have been much worse…. He must have fallen here before making contact with the depths of Moria, as otherwise he'd have been killed on impact.

But…how had he fallen here? There was a roof, and his keen eyes found no breaks in it large enough for him to have simply slipped through.

Gandalf. It had to be something the old wizard had done, Legolas decided; uncertain at first but beginning to place more weight on the thought. He vaguely remembered the chanting he had heard as he passed out. Well, Legolas thought to himself as he tried to relax his sore muscles, at least he insured that the ring didn't fall into the wrong hands…in the first place. He didn't know how long he'd be able to withstand the ring's power.

He heard the other boy approaching, holding a few rags and basin of water with him. "I'm sorry, I do not have the means to treat you any other way," the boy began, setting the basin by the bed. Leaning to the floor as he wet one of the rags, has asked, "Do you have any major injuries?"

Come to think of it, his ribs hurt an awful lot. "No. I'm perfectly fine, but thank you for your concern. I can clean myself." With that, Legolas held out his hand for the rag, wincing as he stretched just a bit further than was his aching ribs could take.

The boy paused a moment before handing the rag to Legolas and sitting back, still watching him. Legolas ignored the boy, grudgingly appreciative of the kind gestures, and went ahead to wipe his several abrasions tenderly, wiping away the dirt and grit and blood. He would bind his ribs later, if they still pained him.

"What happened to you?" the boy asked bluntly after a few moments.

"I fell off a bridge," Legolas replied just as bluntly.

The boy stared, the same nonplussed expression gracing his features, and said, "How'd you manage that?"

Legolas looked up and stared at the boy, properly making him uncomfortable, as it was when the eyes of humans met those of the elves. When the boy looked up again, Legolas told him clearly, "A creature of fire and shadow pulled me down off a bridge in a cave. A Balrog. Perhaps you have heard of such a thing."

"No," the boy replied simply. He sighed, expression losing all sense of incredulity. "My name is Will Turner. I've lived most of my life here in Port Royal. Who're you?"

Legolas had gone back to treating his wounds, but still answered. "My name is Legolas Thranduilion; I am an archer. I left on a quest several days ago with a company of eight others, and I find myself at a loss to explain what may have possibly caused me to come here. I did not think there were any human settlements in Moria's vicinity."

"Moria?" Will raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

_Odd_, Legolas thought absently, concentrating on pulling out a small chip of stone that had wedged itself into one of his cuts along his shoulder. "Ah. Well." He sighed, gritting his teeth before yanking out the stone. He was being rude, and he knew better than this. Uninformed as this person may be, he was still obviously kind to him. _It was only my pride that suffered_, he scolded himself. Just because the boy thought he was female at first didn't mean that the human was stupid. Just sort of slow, maybe.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he told Will softly. "I am very grateful for it." Will's face brightened and he smiled at Legolas.

"Oh yeah, me too," said a voice behind the two of them. Legolas snapped up straight, berating himself as quickly as he readied for battle. How could you not pay attention to your surroundings? You bear the ring now – take care of it!

The man – Legolas' eyes slid over the rounded ears – held out a sword in front of him, pointed menacingly at the two. His long hair was wrung in dreadlocks, adorned by several beads and trinkets. Over his head he wrapped a long, red cloth, with a hat over it; his clothes were aged and roughened by use, though seemed comfortable. He had a slight grin creeping through the tough facade – an upturn of the corner of his lip – and an amused expression on his face. Dark eyes glittering, he kept the weapon trained on them as he circled around.

"What have we here, lad?" the man said idly to Will, who had gotten up swiftly in his shock. "Stay quiet and you'll not be hurt. I'll just be on me way…."

"You're the one they're searching for," Will said, eyes wide and fixated on the man, as he backed away from the nearing point of the sword. "You threatened to hurt Miss Swann!"

"Only a little." A smirk played on the man's lips, as he paused, his face lost of humor, and gazed at Will closely while leaning backwards slightly. "You look familiar, boy – have I threatened you before?"

"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with _pirates_," Will spat angrily in reply, still as ever, avoiding the ever-close blade.

The man laughed heartily at that. "Thank you for your master's sword, but I believe I'll have to get going now, savvy? Move aside."

"Right then," Legolas said curtly, getting fed up with the bickering between the other two, and starting to wonder whether the situation was supposed to be funny or not. "What are you trying to do?"

Jack Sparrow turned his head to the figure still resting on the bed. His eyes widened slightly at the elf, Legolas, and raised an eyebrow at Will. "Why, aren't you a strange-looking wench! You look…" Sparrow glanced at Will before turning back to Legolas, slightly concerned, "…nearly like him…."

Legolas glanced at Will's face – which was glazed over with that blank look once more – and was about to ask what the pirate had meant by that comment, before Will gave a derisive snort.

"He's not a wench," Will said sulky, still glaring at the pirate. "He says he's over a few centuries older than I am and that he fell off a bridge and somehow appeared here."

"Too much rum?" Sparrow asked, eyebrows rising as he leaned back to get a closer look at the elf. Then something seemed to hit him, and he asked, with an even more disbelieving tone, "It's a _he_?"

Legolas opened his mouth angrily once realizing that they were insulting him, but Will replied before he could.

"Yes, strange, is it not? He looks female enough at first glance…."

Legolas found himself speechless for the first time in his very, very long existence. How…how dare they insinuate that he was overly feminine? _Feminine_. Him. Of all elves. The warrior chosen to go with the Fellowship of the Ring out of all in the elven race. Feminine. These humans were calling him feminine.

He tried to forget and focused his eyes on the two, before shaking is head.

He couldn't get his head around it. How was he feminine? Of course he had the long hair, but all elves did, and so did many men. He wasn't very tall, but was slim, true, but so were many others. His clothing wasn't feminine. His face wasn't feminine, so he couldn't see how Will could say he was without agreeing that he himself was also feminine.

Maybe humans considered femininity differently than elves did? He'd have to remember to speak to Aragorn about it – Aragorn would certainly know, as the Elfstone. He would rue ever explaining to the Fellowship the disgrace of being called feminine by the two mortals – and even more despised the fact that the dwarf Gimli would eventually somehow find out – but his curiosity would overcome him, he knew. Maybe Aragorn would someday let him live it down.

Anyway.

"Will both of you be quiet?" Legolas finally demanded, silencing the two immediately.

That is, until Sparrow realized that he was supposed to be in charge, as he was in fact holding the two at sword point. "Move aside, lad." The pirates' voice had flattened and lost quite a bit of its careless, sultry manner. Legolas noticed his eyes flitting to the door in the back of the room. His escape was so close at hand….

"No! I cannot just step aside and let you escape," Will snarled in reply, quick as lightening as he pulled out a dagger from his belt.

Naturally, battle ensued. Legolas grunted in exasperation before rolling off the bed and looking around for a spare weapon – he must have lost his knives in the fall – and he found…absolutely nothing. And Valar his ribs hurt badly… Forgoing the original plan of finding something to fight with, Legolas grabbed the closest thing – the pillow, then – and tackled a surprised Sparrow to the ground, effectively crushing the pirate's weapon under their body weight and stuffing his face full of…pillow.

"Argh, what's wrong with yeh, man!" Sparrow's words came, muffled down in volume. He thrashed violently, catching Legolas in the ribs and throwing him off. Gasping, he stood, blocking himself from Will's sword as he spared slightly weirded-out glances at the elf pouting off to the side, hand to his chest and breathing painfully.

Sparrow shook his head and let loose a bright chuckle. _Aye, here's one man definitely crazy enough to join me on this quest_. Attacking someone with a pillow and nearly suffocating them…creative, wasn't he?

Jack Sparrow raised a hand and pulled back his weapon, voice smoothing out and expression somewhat kinder than before. "Who makes all these?" he said as he glanced about the room and the swords loitering in spare nooks. The tone may have been curious if not for the underlying exasperation.

"I do," Will declared, glowering at the pirate, a bit of humble pride coloring his tone. "And I practice with them three hours a day."

"You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" Sparrow advised, eyebrows quirking and body swaying again as he took a moment to knowledgeably point at him with several fingers. Then a look of comprehension settled about the sullied features. "Or…perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you have already found one and are otherwise incapable of _wooing_ said strumpet." He paused again. "You're not a eunuch, too, are yeh?"

Will and Legolas both stared at him blankly.

Again, the same faces with the same expressions and the same eyes staring at him made Jack feel more than just a bit wary. He figured that their answer was a firm no.

"Good to know," he said, backing away. His eyes lingered on Legolas more than they did on Will – after all, the elf had attacked him in a more devious fashion than the young boy had. He couldn't believe he'd nearly been taken out by a pillow – one wielded by a eunuch, at that. He started his way towards the back door.

But before he could quite take his leave, something large, heavy, and painful fell on his head with little ado, and Jack fell over unconscious.

Several hours later, Legolas sat up straighter as Will came back into the room fuming. "Master Brown gets all the credit for having taken down Sparrow and we were the ones holding him off!"

"It matters not," Legolas said wearily, rubbing his ribs lightly. "As long as he is imprisoned…. Aside from his sword-fighting skills, he doesn't seem like a dangerous man."

Will gave him an odd look, which Legolas found rather appalling. He would never contort his face into such an expression, and here the man was doing it, with the exact same features! "You're totally clueless when it comes to pirates, then," Will said lightly, flopping down onto the floor and leaning his back against the wall.

At the same time, Legolas stood and began limping out the door. "Where are you going?" the boy called exasperatedly from behind, as he too followed.

"I need to find out where I've fallen, and how to find my Company once again," Legolas replied patiently. "Know you of any mines in the area, at all?"

Will looked at him blankly.

Legolas turned away and refrained from making comment. He would be getting many of those looks in the time coming, he assumed – he might as well get used to them. Limping down the staircase, Legolas let his eyes wander around the stuffy room. There were no windows, no trees…nothing of nature in that room. His eyes drifted to the hearth and he distastefully looked upon the myriad of metalworking tools haphazardly strewn about. "A blacksmith, I assume," he remarked to Will quietly.

"Swords, mostly," Will replied, answering an unvoiced question. Will watched as Legolas tenderly lifted a sword from its place on the wall, and peered at it closely, running his fingers along the edge of the blade. "Who are you?"

Legolas did not pause in his inspection of the sword, and he held it away from him before giving a few test swirls. "I've given you my name."

"Yes, yes, Leggy or something. That doesn't explain anything."

"Legolas," the elf corrected patiently. "I am an elf, like I said. I hail from Mirkwood."

Will rolled his eyes again, gingerly approaching and taking the sword from Legolas' grip. He was wary of the other, and – if the "elf" was as delusional as he came off – then Will definitely did not want him armed. Gingerly, he said, "Elves don't exist. There's no such place as Mirkwood in any of the colonies, nor in Great Britain."

"Great Britain?" Legolas repeated, frowning. He stood still for a few long moments, then politely inquired, "Do you have a map I may look at?"

Will nodded and after a slight pause in which he rummaged through a cabinet on the opposite side of the room from his workstation, he pulled out a scroll and laid it upon the workbench, smoothing out the creases. "Here," he said, point towards the corner of the large parchment, "we are right here, in the Caribbean, and this town is called Port Royal."

Legolas' eyes progressively widened and his heart slowed its beating as he stared at the map. _This cannot be_. Nothing of the sort existed on Middle-Earth – no map of any other land, no knowledge of any others, besides their own elven kin, living to the West or South of Middle-Earth. How was it possible that this map charted lands across seas, and that those seas and those lands bore no resemblance to the world Legolas had come from?

He began breathing faster, peering closer, hoping for some sort of sign that this was all wrong and that Will was just a boy with an imagination that would've done better to stay within the bounds of his skull. But to no avail; when Legolas looked at the boy and saw his openly questioning expression, he knew this was no lie.

Suddenly he felt weak. He felt sapped of energy and hope, and he left himself lean against the workbench, feeling each and every nuance of the horror of his predicament wash over him in waves. _How could this be?_

Gandalf could not have done this. The Wizard was exceptional, yes; but it would have taken all of his power for the Wizard to do this…absolutely everything….

* * *

"How much longer, Gandalf?" Boromir asked quietly. He had long ago hoisted Pippin upon his back, as the little one was tired and he himself couldn't distract his eyes from the dragging feet of the others. He shot a frown at the heir of Numenor before turning his attention back to the Istar.

"Not much longer, my friend," Gandalf replied, voice low. Boromir's gaze lingered a little longer, before the man's attention returned to the path. He hadn't known of Gandalf's long-standing friendship with Legolas until recent…but the wizard was truly distraught over the loss of the elf. He looked…bad. Wearier and more fatigued than he had ever before seen him.

Boromir could feel that loss. He had slowly gotten to know the elf over the course of their journey, and though he did not feel the grief that the wizard did, he could not banish the sadness he felt so quickly for the loss of such a being as the elven archer. The elf had truly been a creature of light. He put the safety of the others before his own, and was a firm handhold within the Fellowship – the one that despite everything, could still smile and with a quick tale or song bring laughter back to their ears. There would be no replacing that within the Fellowship.

"Halt!"

Startled out of their thoughts, the Fellowship heeded the directions and came to a stop. A group of elves came into sight, each with a notched bow and arrow held out in front of them, pointing at one of the Fellowship. One, obviously the leader, stepped out and his keen eyes observed them critically. "You are trespassing in the Golden Wood."

"We seek audience with the Lady Galadriel," Gandalf said, staff lowered.

The elf looked closely at Gandalf, pausing before reevaluating the others. "There was a group of nine, they said, that would be soon arriving. I count only eight, Mithrandir."

"One of our companions fell in the mines of Moria," Aragorn said, voice low. His heart trembled as he spoke the words. "Legolas Thranduilion."

The reaction among the elves was immediate and dismayed. The Marchwarden looked taken aback – eyes widened, jaw slacked – before eyebrows furrowed together and he demanded, "He fell? How? Elves do not simply trip and lose their balance!"

"It was a Balrog," Gimli answered. "A Balrog of Morgoth."

The elf stared at the dwarf with disbelief and dislike painted across his features. He breathed deeply before looking at Aragorn and Gandalf fiercely in the eyes. "It is only for his sake I allow for any of you to pass – including the dwarf – without other precautions. I will take you to my Lady immediately." He signaled to his companions before looking back at the Company, letting his eyes linger on that of Aragorn's. He nodded them forward, and began to lead the way.

The path was long and strained. The elves kept silent vigil over the Company, their wary eyes lingering longest upon the dwarf. Gimli, meanwhile, kept his silence and his distance. Aragorn let his mind wander in the safety that the cover of the Golden mallorn trees offered them, and knew that this magnificent sight – the golden woods – would forever be tainted to him by the death of his beloved friend.

Legolas would live to see them, he swore to himself. He would have survived the assault of the Balrog. Death could not claim the immortal, he furiously thought against the tide of despair the welled within him. Death could not have taken Legolas so soon.

They walked on, and on, all lost in thoughts as the trees grew into thickets around them and little light was shed from the skies. When they were escaping from Moria, they hadn't had time to stop and grieve or think. And now, with the elves leading the way and protecting them, it seemed as if all the time they so desired after escaping the caves was suddenly there, and too overwhelming and unwanted and too soon. Aragorn tried to think of other things, and heavily raising his head from its fixed position staring at the ground, he looked at the rest of the Fellowship.

The Hobbits were dragging their large feet. Boromir still carried Pippin upon his back – Pippin, who was sobbing silently into Boromir's shoulder – but the other three were walking as quickly as they could in order to keep up with the long strides of the others. Sam was pale in complexion and eyes wet – his strained eyes kept glancing over to Frodo. The latter hobbit was worn beyond any condition Aragorn had before seen him in. Face pale, eyes empty…. Frodo would do some good healing in Lothlorien while he had the chance….

And not only that – he no longer bore the Ring as a burden. It had fallen, fallen with Legolas, who saved Gandalf only to lose himself to the abyss of Moria. Gandalf. Aragorn looked lastly at him, and was alarmed by the weariness that lined all of the Maia's features. The hand holding the staff was trembling minutely, and rather than face an injury having come to the wizard, Aragorn let his welling eyes wander back to the trees, telling himself that they were all tired and the wizard was no exception to this. If the wizard was injured, they had no means of helping him anyway.

Upon their entrance into the center city of Lothlorien, the members of the Fellowship were momentarily stunned. Forgetting their anxieties, their eyes wandered around the beautiful abode; The trees glowed with and ethereal light, and the lamenting voices of the elves mingled with the evening breeze left the Fellowship speechless in its awe.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien stepped forward and placed a hand gingerly upon the gigantic base of the center tree, peering upwards and gleaming with unshed tears. "The trees mourn for the passing of the Prince, as do the elves of Lorien." He looked back at the Fellowship, eyes still blurred despite his now rigid features. "Come. My Lord and Lady await."

Up they followed the Marchwarden, hearing a whisper in their minds and impressions of knowing eyes. They allowed the laments of the elves to wash over their minds, mourning with them the youngest of Eryn Lasgalen and the royal elves. It was almost with trepidation, however, they stepped upon the dais of the talan of the Lord and Lady of Lorien.

They were waiting, however, the two elves. Each tall and matching in height, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel both allowed their piercing, jewel-bright gazes to rest upon each of the Fellowship, one by one. While Lord Celeborn's hair was of silver silk, Lady Galadriel's long tresses were spun of fine gold. Lady Galadriel's eyes stopped upon Gandalf's face.

She stepped forward and looked into Gandalf's eyes. Their gazes meeting, and Gandalf holding it steady, Lady Galadriel stopped and remained still, as if listening to the rustling of the leaves of the mallorn trees around her. "He has fallen," the Lady said softly, voicing what all of Lothlorien knew, then going on to voice what very few in Middle-Earth knew. "He has fallen, and the One Ring has fallen with him."

Gandalf nodded slowly, eyes still wide and focused. Before he could add anything, the Elven Lady continued. Her ancient but smooth hands reached upwards to gather Gandalf's hands into her own. "You have saved them for now, and you are tired."

Gandalf kept his features still and steady, ignoring the confusion spreading upon the faces of the others in the Fellowship. Boromir glanced at Aragorn. _Had the wizard told the other man something about this?_

"Then rest, Gandalf the White," Lady Galadriel said, hands gently falling back to her sides. "Rest; and when we next see you, you shall be robed in the color befitting your rank."

Inclining his head to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, he offered a slight, characteristically knowing smile to the Company, before following one of the two elves standing beside the Marchwarden down back into the depths of the city.

Done watching him leave, Lady Galadriel's gaze seemed to harden as she turned to face the others once more. "There is much for you to learn. Ask your questions."

Unable to keep himself quiet any longer, Aragorn blurted, "What is happening? My Lady, is what you say true? Gandalf has saved Legolas?"

Galadriel nodded her head gravely. "As the Prince fell with fire and shadow, Gandalf the Grey used an ancient spell to save the his life. The spell, however, took most all of Gandalf's life force. He is dying."

A horrified gasp rose within the Fellowship, and Aragorn more felt than heard Pippin fall to his knees. Quickly, Galadriel raised her hand. "Yet worry not. Gandalf will be well and whole once again, and he will return to us swiftly in order to further aid this quest."

Aragorn's throat worked for a moment, and he feebly recollected his thoughts. He would trust the words of the Elf and leave it at that. Gandalf would be fine. "And Legolas? He lives?"

Galadriel's stern gaze found his. "For now."

**end || setting the stage**

* * *

**  
Disclaimer: **Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note: **I have definitely decided to continue writing this :D I hope everyone's willing to stick through with it; I do warn you that I'm slow at updating, due to both the length of chapters and the effort that I put in. And I have problems with time management, so. Yeah. I've gone through this chapter again and edited though, mostly the part where Jack shows up. Incorporated more movie dialogue and hopefully improved characterization. As a heads up: no Legomance, lots of plot, action. First half will generally be Pirates-oriented, second half will move almost completely into the Middle-Earth scenerio. Enjoy, hopefully!


	3. silent siege

of gilded blood  
**chapter II || silent siege**

_"Horses prance through a silver storm  
Figures dancing gracefully  
Across my memory  
Far away  
Long ago  
Glowing dim as an ember  
Things my heart used to know  
Once upon a December…"  
_*Anastasia, "Once Upon a December"

"Legolas is in a rather dangerous situation," Celeborn stated, stepping down so that he was level with the still, motley collection standing before him. He paused, then gestured towards the innards of the talan. "Please, be seated. I am afraid this shall take a bit of time to explain."

Lethargically, the Fellowship followed the elves further into the dais, finding themselves in a warm room that exuded all the tranquility they couldn't feel. They found themselves relaxing against their will, and sank into soft cushions and seats, reveling in their return to civilization without thinking on it. Little had been their comforts during their travels, and the warmth and comfort that Lothlorien provided them was such a change from the scalding winds of Caradhras and the lethal stillness of the depths of Moria. Despite this, their thoughts quickly fled back to their fallen friend.

"If Legolas is alive," Frodo said, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. "Then…does that mean he remains yet in Moria?"

Celeborn shook his head. "Nay, Master Hobbit." The elven lord raised his hands and interlaced his fingers under his chin as he leaned back in his seat. "To our understanding, Gandalf has transported Legolas to a different location altogether."

There was another long stretch of quiet, before Gimli said in frustration, "Then he could be anywhere! Rivendell, Gondor – even Mordor! We could not possibly find him…."

Lady Galadriel shook her head slightly. "Nay, Master Dwarf. You misunderstand, for I am afraid we have not made ourselves clear. Legolas not only in a different place…."

"…He is in a different _world_," Lord Celeborn completed. His gray eyes met that of each and every one of the Company, making sure each understood the gravity and proportion of what he was saying. "Legolas is no longer within Middle-Earth."

"I saw it in my mirror as soon as it happened," Lady Galadriel smoothly continued, her soft voice shredding the silence that had fallen upon the stricken Fellowship. "He is safe – for now, and soon, we shall all gaze upon him and see how he fares. We know not the pull of the Ring – "

"It is powerful," Frodo said, lifting his head up – and all could see the new tears forming in his eyes, grazing along the tracks the old ones had left. He looked away from the elves, unable to hold his gaze.

Lord Celeborn nodded. "Yes, as you say, it is. But the Ring is no longer within the bounds of Middle-Earth – so far, far away from its master and home. It may do one of three things that we have foreseen." In his ancient eyes, they saw an emotion – worry? – flicker as he turned to his lady.

"First," Galadriel started, her voice hardening and strengthening in force, just as quickly as her eyes could. "The Ring may set to have Legolas killed, and thus pass itself from master to master until it finds the one it searches for – the Dark Lord himself."

"Second," Celeborn picked up, "it may decide to stay with Legolas – controlling him – until it finds a way back to Middle-Earth. Thus, we may assume it is weakened, due to its distance from the land of shadow."

"And lastly," Galadriel said, looking upon the Company with a gleam in her eyes. "Thirdly, it may lose whatever power it had in the first place. It being so far from its master may have annulled whatever power it held."

"And what if it hasn't? What if it has lost none of its ardor and still searches to find a way back?" Boromir asked despairingly, voice low and strong arms tense at his sides.

"Then it will," the elven lord replied simply. "It will return – and for the better, if it has not lost its potency. We must rid the Ring from this world, for unless we do, the power of Mordor and its Lord will never wane."

"If it doesn't return, then?" Pippin Took spoke up, voice ever so slightly confused. "If – if its power is truly dead?"

"Then we must leave Legolas Thranduilion where he is as an eternal guardian of it, to ensure it will never come to Middle-Earth again," Galadriel said at length. Her voice softened and lowered in tone. "He will not be granted the Halls of Mandos or the haven of Valinor as others – and with such a task in his hands, his determination to see it through will not allow him the peace of death."

"Peace of death?" Samwise Gamgee echoed faintly, his face twisting in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

Lord Celeborn nodded at the hobbit, face and features still. "There are some things, Master Hobbit," he said softly, "that are worse than death. In some ways, bearing a ring of power can be one of them."

* * *

"Yes, we call it Earth," Will repeated, looking more than just a bit worried for Legolas' sanity.

Legolas stared at the boy before slumping further into his seat. "You mean to tell me that this is not Middle-Earth, that there are no elves – or dwarves, hobbits, wizards, orcs – and that man is the predominant race?"

Will watched him slightly apologetically before shrugging a shoulder and saying bluntly, "Well, yes. Sorry to burst your bubble. How could you have lived for a thousand years not knowing that?"

"I wasn't _here_ until a few hours ago," Legolas reminded him, not deeming him worthy enough of an angry retort. He continued gazing out of the window, watching the sun as it slowly continued its descent.

Will rolled his eyes as he folded the map and put it back in its place. "You mean you just _realized_ that you were here a few hours ago. There's no excuse for not knowing what planet you're on," he scolded. "Or what species you are."

"Yes," Legolas readily agreed, his patience fraying and tongue becoming eager to lash. "That's why you should do yourself a favor and admit to being the baboon that you are. Maybe mankind will be able to make up for the mar your existence has placed upon it."

Will turned and faced Legolas, blinking at the insult, feeling a consistently welling tightness of his throat. He was speechless for a moment – the "elf" could be so kind one moment and so wrathful the next! – before he gave the man – elf – _thing_ – an expression that hid no little anger. "If you're so sure of everything, then you might as well just leave and find your own way. I do nothing to keep you here, you mad fool!"

"You must believe me," Legolas said, standing up and leaning forward, ignoring the fact that no one had ever spoken to him like that – except for Aragorn – due to his status as prince. It was a slightly refreshing surprise to find someone who was honest and simple with their words to him. "You must understand that what I say is the truth!"

Will stared Legolas down, rather well for a human. Muscles in his gritting jaw twitched, before he said in turn, "I _mustn_'_t_ do anything."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at the young human before getting up and leaving through what he correctly assumed was the front door. Fine, then. If all this human could do – even after learning of his predicament – was to treat him as if he were mad, then of what help could he be? He still had his honor and pride and would not stand to be treated as one of addled mind! _Maybe he'll understand later._ He walked out into the town of Port Royal, head held high. He would have to find his own way back to Middle-Earth…somehow.

He walked out onto the cobblestone paths and watched humans bustle about their business – some selling on the streets, others pushing vendors, others lazily trotting by on their steeds, and some merely walking in the fresh spring air. Soon it would be dusk, but it seemed as though there was some sort of celebration going on at what appeared to be a fort – Legolas' keen eyes saw the hundred or so red-coated soldiers lined for the procession. This was the perfect time for him to do some quick exploring.

He absently reached up a hand to brush away strands of hair that flew into his face in the casual breeze. His braids had come undone at some point and it would take too much of the little time he had to braid them back into place. Besides, if what Will Turner said was true – that he was somehow in a world of men in which no elves ever existed – the warrior braids not only meant nothing but would seem like a petty adornment – too _feminine_ for the race of men. His hand, in his haste to push his hair aside, brushed against the tip of his ear.

_Oh, for the sake of…_ he frowned. He would have to hide his ears; for though the ears of elves were delicately shaped and not much different from those of men, the points were still obvious and would make him stand out. Well, they would make him stand out even more, added with the natural glow that all elves had, and the piercing gaze…. Ah. Yes. Blending in among the humans would be a more difficult task than he would have wagered. He let his silvery locks drift and curtain around his face, effectively ridding the possibility of the humans seeing their petal-like form.

Wishing he had brought some sort of cloak with him on the quest, he continued his way down the street, ignoring the looks of curiosity and awe that followed him. Yes, the quest. What of it? If he was here with the One Ring, then how was the Fellowship planning to return it to the fires of Mount Doom? They would have to wait for him to return…then meet with him in a way such that the forces of Mordor would not find him first…. He fervently hoped that they had made it out of Moria and to Lothlorien alive.

He looked about and found himself near a dock – was there a river running through the town? _Port_, something in his mind told him fiercely, trying to remind him of something. _It is a port – Port Royal_! The word _port_ and his surroundings didn't quite seem to reach him and as if in a daydream, he walked along the dock and closer to the source of the salty scent in the air, the swirls of warm winds…. There were birds flying above, perched on the branches of the trees, and he looked at them…watching in a daze…. _They're pretty…_. The sand was white, he noted idly, along the shoreline…. The waves were mesmerizing, with golden tints of the setting sun reflecting within them…. He began to walk closer to the water, reaching out, deciding that maybe he would like to swim, see what was on the other side….

So into the water he went; carefully at first, getting used to the feel of the cool water against his skin, and slowly paddled outwards further into the dock. Something deep, deep within himself was afraid for the first time in a very long time, trembling in panic and sorrow and despair. But something in him pushed that aside and let himself happily glide through the water, even when it started getting deep, fixated on getting to what was on the other side of what he cheerfully assumed was a large body of water.

Used to the stillness and calm of the sea, Legolas wavered for a moment when he heard a large splash somewhere near him. The scared, more aware emotion welled up within him again, and he slowly came to realization… _Someone jumped into the water behind me_.

His first reaction was to think that it would be nice to have some company during the long swim across the ocean; until said person caught up with him, threw an arm around his neck, and started dragging him back towards shore.

Legolas struggled fiercely at first, catching the person in the stomach, and began to haughtily paddle away again, not quite out of his stupor yet. The further he swam though, the more he seemed to hear. No longer was the sound of the rolling waves all-encompassing: he heard the voices of men and the bustle of the town as well. He slowed to a stop, then turned around. Young William Turner was swimming after him, a raging look on his face, as he yelled for the other to stop. "Leggy – Leg – Legolas!"

"What?" Legolas called back, staying where he was. He suddenly felt confused and tired; nothing made sense. What…what was he doing here in the water?

"What are you doing?" Will yelled at him in a bedraggled voice. "Come – come back here!"

Docile and baffled as to what was going on in the first place, Legolas obeyed quietly and started swimming back towards shore. "What's wrong?" he asked Will ten minutes later, as they both grabbed hold of the wooden panels of the dock and tread water.

"Wha – " Will stared at him furiously, breathing loudly and deeply, trying to catch his breath. "Just because I think you're insane doesn't mean that you have to – to go drown yourself!"

Legolas blinked. _Drown myself…_? His words sounded childish and vulnerable even to his ears as he said them, and he knew something was wrong. "I wanted to see what was on the other side…."

"You were out by the cliffs – that's very dangerous!" Will exclaimed, trying to make Legolas see reason. He pointed towards where he had seen the elf when he had first come to the shore. Legolas looked outwards, following Will's gesture, and found himself staring at an _ocean_.

And then he heard the cry of the gulls.

That simple sound – it broke him free of his spell and in the realization of exactly where he was made Legolas felt as though his soul had been jarred from his body for long moments, and it finally fell back into place along with something painfully new and familiar all at once. In his shock he lost his grip on the dock and pitched forward…hitting himself square in the face on a wooden pole holding the dock up.

"Aaggh," he spat water out, bringing one hand back up to the dock and the other to rub his forehead. He had a bad enough headache as it was – he did not need the added bruise to show it! He heard a snort from beside him, and he glanced over to find Will reluctantly laughing.

As Will's adrenaline rush passed, so did his laughter, and he pulled himself up over the water and onto the sturdy dock, reaching down to offer a hand to Legolas. The wet elf took the hand gratefully and soon was sitting beside the slouching human, drying off in the cool air. Night had fallen – how had he not noticed this? Without thinking of it, his nervous hands went to his neck, and grasped the Ring hanging from the silver chain. _Yes, it is still there_. And then another thought came to him. _It is still there only because it wants to be_.

Before he could think more on it, Will stood and tugged at his arm. "Come on, let's get ourselves warm again." He stopped and watched Legolas wearily stand. "I'm sorry for calling you mad…and I will do my best to help you back to, ah, this Middle-Earth." He paused, then went on. "But you should most certainly get some rest…wherever you came from, the trip has undeniably rendered you strange."

Legolas smiled genuinely, despite that he knew that he didn't have the human's full confidence, causing his fair features to light up and his eyes to clear of their sorrow. Will stared for a moment, caught by how unreal the elf seemed, before smiling back. "Then I must return the favor to you someday," Legolas said softly, as they set back towards the blacksmith's shop. "And I will have to tell you everything about my circumstances of being here. Only then will I hold you to your word."

Will frowned at him, catching the serious expression on the elf's face. He turned back to watch the streets as they kept walking. "Well, whatever," he replied. "Just…don't go drowning yourself again." A stern look from the elf stopped any further comments Will might have made, and they spent the rest of the distance back to the forge in silence.

Once there, they quietly got the fire going and Will kindly poured them each a cup of tea to soothe their nerves and warm their cold bodies. And Legolas told him everything.

Letting himself rest – for he had been speaking for hours now – Legolas gripped the mug lightly with one hand, letting the tips of his finger gently trace the rim. "They _must_ know where I am…as Gandalf was the one who sent me here." In the warmth of the fire, he felt better, and Will's silent support – whether or not it was given out of faith in his tale – meant more to him than he would have known.

"And this Ring of yours," Will said after a long silence, "it has a mind of its own?"

"Nearly," Legolas replied, shrugging despondently, as they both continued to stare into the fire without quite seeing it. "Its mind is that of its master, the dark lord Sauron."

Will's eyes dropped down sideward and he caught a glimpse of the chain around Legolas' neck, and the golden trinket that hung from it. In the firelight, it glinted, and though it was beautiful, Will could see nothing special of it, and that observation only supported his ever-strengthening theory that Legolas was indeed crazy. Catching the young man's gaze and seemingly reading his thoughts, Legolas nimbly unlatched the chain, slipped the Ring off of it, and recklessly tossed it into the fire.

Will blinked, before feeling even more confused than he had been for the past hour, and getting to his feet. "What are you doing?" he gasped, looking at the fire horrifically. "It'll melt in the fire, you idiot!" _What a waste_!

"No, it won't," Legolas said firmly. After another few minutes in which Legolas mischievously relished Will fretting on his behalf, he took hold of a fire poker and using it, pulled the Ring away from the flames. "It's quite cool to the touch," he said, taking it into his hand, mindful not to touch the end of the poker. They both stared at it, and watched, mesmerized, as inscriptions began to appear around the Ring. Will reached out his hand, and took the Ring from Legolas, holding it up to the light, running his fingers along the Tengwar script.

"What's it say?" he breathed, letting his eyes drink in the sight of the strange object, confusion fully transitioning into headache. "That…simply cannot be! There is no such metal that doesn't heat in flame or…or have hidden inscriptions such as these! I know this well!"

Legolas did not look up. "In the tongue of men it says, _One Ring to rule them all_. It is the most powerful of the Rings: three to elf-kind, seven to dwarf-kind, and nine to mankind. The three are safe. The seven are lost. And the nine are corrupted and in the service of the dark lord."

Will said nothing, still staring at the strange jewelry. He watched for another few moments, marveling at the craftsmanship, before the letters started to fade. "It is but a trick," he accused warily. He peered at it closely for another few moments, before handing it back to Legolas, more uncertain about the strange being than ever before.

Legolas took it, and in his fingers he twirled it, testing its weight and texture. "It does not seem to affect you," he said after a moment, and reached for the chain he had set aside. "It is my belief that it _won't_ affect you – or others – of this world. It will choose to remain with me, because I am its way back to Middle-Earth, and to its master."

Will looked at Legolas intensely, leaning against the fireplace. What was this leading to? Assuming that what Legolas said was true – how silly! – then he should help, but…. "Does that mean it still has this power to…control?"

The elf nodded hesitantly.

"Then it will soon overwhelm you," Will pointed out. He looked rather calm, for the magnitude of such a situation, Legolas thought idly. _Then again, he has not seen the destruction that the Ring has wreaked upon Middle-Earth_. _Nor does he quite believe me._

"It will not be as powerful," Legolas said, standing as well. He could feel a sick feeling in his stomach, as he began to pace – an action he had rarely indulged in. "The elves…there is something we call the _sea-longing_." He glanced up at Will, only to see the boy listening raptly, trying to seem disinterested but failing miserably. "Upon seeing the sea, an elf would have an urge to sail to Valinor, west of the lands of Middle-Earth," he explained as he paced. He had his arms crossed and pressed to his chest closely, feeling as if a draft had caught up to him, silly although the thought was. "It was just a few hours ago that I saw the sea…"

"And began to feel this urge," Will finished for him, catching on, eyebrows raised, face blank with a subtle skepticism. "That's still no excuse to drown yourself."

Legolas shook his head, becoming frustrated again, speaking as though he hadn't heard the boy's reply. "No, no, that can't be it. I didn't feel the urge until _after_, when I actually realized that I was next to sea, and heard the gulls. And even that feeling has significantly dulled, when it shouldn't have."

He brought his hands up to the chain, to the Ring, and held it out, trying to bring to himself clarity of mind. He worked his mind, trying to bring order to the confusion running rampant. Slowly, nailing them into words as soundly as he could, he said, "It wants to go back. It clouded my perception in order for me to do its bidding – and it wanted me to swim out to sea. It's already begun to take me, and I know not for how long I can withstand it."

There was another long silence. Legolas continued to pace, and Will watched in dismay. Left to their own thoughts, there was silence until Legolas stopped, suddenly, and lifted his head up, eyes closed in concentration.

"What is it?" asked Will, looking up. "What's – "

Legolas snapped his eyes open, wishing his hearing wasn't as good as it was and that just maybe he was wrong. "Fireworks," he said confusedly, eyes widening as he heard a quick succession of explosions. But – that couldn't be right – "No. Not fireworks." The objects were too heavy and directed at the town, not the sky – and in moments they would hit. "Port Royal is under attack."

Looking at the elf disbelievingly for a moment, before the sound of cannon fire was within his hearing range as well, Will immediately jumped towards the rack of blades assembled along the wall, and grabbed one for himself as he tossed another back to his new companion. "Pirates!"

And out into the melee they leapt.

Legolas followed Will's lead as they wove through the running and screaming villagers towards the dock. They were too late to keep the pirates from storming on to land, but nor would they allow for the fiends to get any closer. Curiosity piqued him like nothing else, when his keen eyes caught exactly what was causing those explosions. Hm. Some strange contraption catapulting metal spheres into buildings. Quite effective, he noticed, and remembered that Minas Tirith used the technique in battle as well. But somehow these were activated with fire – _how strange_! – but as a battle cry and the events going on around him penetrated his fog, he realized that now was not the time for this.

Turning his attention back to the battle and engaging one man – smelly and even filthier than the dwarf Gimli – Legolas locked blades and twirled, unbalancing the pirate and sending him tumbling over to the ground. Grasping the hilt of the equally dirty sword the man had dropped, Legolas turned only to find that another one had knocked Will backwards, holding the young man's neck in a firm strangle.

"Say goodbye," the hulking man sneered at the boy – but before Legolas could take another step, the metal sign above head was ripped of its restraints and fell into the pirate, throwing him through the glass window of the shop behind.

"Goodbye," Will muttered, throwing Legolas a cocky, though relieved, expression over his shoulder, before wrenching an ax from the ground and throwing it into the spine of a pirate passing by. Legolas' lips quirked upward at the show of skill from Will – he would have to learn that trick from the human – before his expression quickly changed into one of alarm, as he caught the look on the young man's face.

"Elizabeth," Will gasped, eyes focused on something past Legolas. The elf turned and his eyes landed upon the object of Will's gaze instantly: a beautiful young woman – hair elaborately pinned halfway up, and dressed in what Legolas assumed to be a night frock of sorts with a decorative robe over it – was staring back at Will. Her eyes locked with the blacksmith's, and her lips seemed to part as if she wanted to say something, but swiftly she was ushered away by two pirates towards shore – towards the black ship, ragged sails risen and haunting in nature; at least, what little could be seen of it in the clouded night.

Legolas glanced at Will again in askance of the girl, but was bewildered to find nothing but thin air where Will's head had been. Looking downwards, he found Will floored and a pirate standing right next to the boy, dull metal blade pointed warily at him. Shocked, he found the pirates' expression somewhat surprisingly nonviolent – rather, he seemed more curious than anything else. _Why didn't I hear his approach_?

"What are you doing out here all alone?" the pirate asked, something akin to concern tainting his features, before Legolas caught a more sinister undercurrent to his words. The pirate inched closer, while the elf stayed motionless, ears pricked. _I cannot hear his steps_. It sparked worry in him again – what was _wrong_ with him? – and he wavered before raising the sword held limply in his hand out to face the pirate.

"I am a warrior," Legolas said, voice low and tight with pride. "What else would I be doing here, in the midst of battle, if not aiming to stop those such as yourself?"

To his utter, disgusted horror – and Legolas could not quite remember a time in all his long years of such a feeling ever overwhelming him – the pirate growled and said, "Mm, a spunky li'l poppet we've got here…."

Before he even realized what had happened, Legolas had already whacked the pirate upside the head with the flat side of the sword and kicked him in the stomach for good measure. The pirate – far from unconscious – rolled past Legolas' reach, got to his feet, and – after one fleeting glance at the glowering being – ran. Furious, the elf turned only to find that all the other pirates had already gotten to shore – what little they pillaged hanging at their sides.

_Strange. Very strange_.

Watching the black ship and hearing the distant shouts and calls of the men on the ship, it swiftly, silently gliding away from the dock and back out to open sea. Knowing somehow that there was no way any of the ships could prepare quickly enough to catch up, Legolas closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to the Valar, words of hope and sorrow lost in the dying wind. _That poor girl_.

He heavily turned back to Will, still passed out on the ground, and hastily crouched beside the young man. Shaking the boy's shoulders gently, he muttered, "Wake, Will, you must wake…." His efforts were rewarded with a loud grunt, and minutes later, dark brown eyes gazed back at Legolas.

"Are you okay?" Legolas asked, knowing the answer: no, Will was anything but okay. In fact, the fact that it was Will's face – so, _so_ hauntingly similar to his own – wearing that expression that Legolas knew he himself wore only when he _really_ wasn't okay said something.

The boy blinked dazedly, a sort of dizziness to his manner that worried Legolas for a moment. He was used to fighting alongside Aragorn, king of men – not Will Turner, child blacksmith extraordinaire. There was a difference, despite that Will's mastery of the sword was one Legolas had seldom seen in Middle-Earth; especially surprising, coming from one so young. Dropping to his knees and steadying him from behind, Legolas pulled Will into a sitting position and helped him as he stood. "You might have an injury, Will," Legolas said gently, practically pulling the boy's weight towards the forge. "You're going to rest a bit, all right?"

"Elizabeth," Will breathed out, tugging weakly at Legolas' hair. "Th…they took Elizabeth…."

At the mention of the girl, Legolas felt shame sting his heart. He had seen and been unable to go to her on time. Now Will would suffer with her. Letting a sigh slip past his lips, he continued to urge the stumbling boy back to his home, getting him past the forge and to his bed.

Tucking the boy in and resting a cool, wet rag on the back of the boy's head, where he had taken the blow, Legolas shut the door as he left and went back to the fireplace. He searched for a pillow, and helplessly grabbed the one on the floor – still ragged and torn from the elf's earlier attempt at halting Sparrow – and almost apologetically positioned it behind the boy's head. Glancing outside, he felt the urge to go and help as much as he could; but knew there was nothing he could do for them. He was no healer, after all, and despite that he was capable of patching wounds sufficiently enough during battle or war, it was not the expertise that was needed here. This was not battle, nor was it war – it was simply the devastation of a town of people who were not meant to fight.

No, he would not belong out there. He did not belong _here_. Wryly glancing around the forge once more and seating himself on the floor with his back to a wall, he shut his eyes. He didn't belong in this world, and therein the trouble truly lay.

* * *

He looked into the clear, flowing water of Nimrodel, resting his weary back upon one of the many mallorn trees that surrounded the city of Caras Galadhon. He felt as though by letting the firm tree keep him upright, the tree somewhat carried his burden as well. It soothed him and his sorrow into something more bearable, somehow.

He let his thoughts linger on the bubbling waters, leaving them adrift, though they only brought him back to that which he had been thinking on before. Just as waves steadily rocked themselves again the ocean shore, so did his guilt. Guilt that the burden fell to one who had not consented to it, had none to help protect it, to guide his path, or to see him back. His friend would suffer the weight of the Ring without a single friend who understood his plight. He was lost to a place of which they knew naught of – Gandalf the White had not yet awakened and Galadriel's mirror provided little information insofar.

"Mister Frodo?"

Frodo jerked forward, eyes opening widely, and turned to find Samwise Gamgee standing around the tree, looking uncomfortable, if nothing else. Taking in the slumped shoulders and weary expression, Frodo softened his hard features and tried to smile for the younger hobbit. "Yes, Sam," he said, with the infinite softness he reserved for his companions. "Come sit with me."

Taking the invitation gratefully, a small grin broke out on the other's face as he settled into the soft earth beside the ringbearer. It pained Frodo to realize that he had seldom seen his gardener so tired. Frodo leaned back again, letting his eyes rove over the beautiful foliage surrounding them and the river. It was so calm, so peaceful… and yet the forests of Lorien failed to stem the worries and troubles of those around them.

"He'd have a song to tell us about this one," Sam said softly, looking out over the water. "Haldir and his brothers mentioned something about the Nimrodel, but they didn't sing. He would've sang the story for us."

Frodo ignored the sting he felt in his eyes before replying just as softly, "Aye, he would, Sam. If only…." He didn't go on, and he didn't need to. Sam always understood.

"Come on, now, Mister Frodo," Sam said, trying to let a little cheer flow into his stiff words. "Gandalf and them know what they're doing, at least now – we'll keep Legolas safe, just like he did us. The others will be here soon."

Frodo could not help but wince. Bilbo had shared several of his adventures with his nephew, who had in turn listened carefully and logged nigh every detail into his memory. And there was one thing he couldn't help but think back to over and over, ever since they'd reached a conclusion on what steps to follow next. _King Thranduil_ _won't be very pleased_.

But in his simple hobbit fashion, Frodo ignored this bit of foretelling to impart a glance to Sam. "Yes, they will. Let us hope that they know of a way to return Legolas to us – or, at the very least, a way to contact him." He felt his hands clench as the grief he felt suddenly solidified into something he could understand – perhaps not fully grasp the repercussions of – but knew was there. "He has no one," Frodo said softly to Sam, whose face softened as he, too, began to understand his elder's concerns. "I have a Fellowship to guide me on my path and keep me safe. I have a friend like you, Sam, with a will that keeps mine firm as well. But Legolas…."

"Legolas is strong," Sam replied long moments later, with a frail confidence borne of hope. "Don't you worry, Mister Frodo. He'll be fine. And you may have us, Mister Frodo, but Legolas won't have the nasty Black Riders or the Eye trying to get him, either." Smiling and joking, Sam added to Frodo's lightening spirit, "You could even say he's having a bit of a break, Mister Frodo. Not a thing to worry about."

**end || silent siege**

* * *

**  
Disclaimer**: Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note**: Next chapter will have Jack and Elizabeth, major thanks to Sidhe for reading for content and TONS of glomps for Chamaeleon for beta-reading! And a quick note on song lyrics: they reflect the nature of each chapter, obviously, though it'll be hard to understand quite how this chapter's lyrics and content really connect till later. You're welcome to guess, however ;)


	4. the worst pirate ever

of gilded blood  
**chapter III the worst pirate ever**

_"Gotta keep  
One jump ahead of the breadline  
One jump ahead of that sword  
I steal only what I can't afford  
That's everything…_"  
Aladdin, "One Jump"

"Why didn't you wake me up?" an angry voice bellowed out of the room, as Legolas backed away. To his delicate elven hearing, it was as if an Oliphaunt had just roared into his face. _Well…Will could pass for one, the way he's going on._ The boy was terribly moody. "I can't _believe_ you just let me sleep like that!"

"You were merely unconscious," Legolas replied patiently, a little wryness coloring his tone. "I assure you that next time I won't let that get in your way."

Letting loose another sound – something halfway between one of Pippin's disgruntled murmurs about food and one of Gimli's ground-trembling snores – Will grabbed the poor, already mutilated pillow and threw it at Legolas in frustration. "Come on! We're going after her!" He strode out of his room determinedly, taking a small hatchet and strapping it to his belt, picking up one of the beautifully-crafted blades of his own make, raising an eyebrow at the elf, inviting him to take his pick.

Refreshed by the idea of choosing new weapons – yet sorrowful when the thought of losing his own, crafted for him by the greatest of elven smiths at his coming of age, surfaced his mind – he pushed the feelings away surprisingly quickly, half forgetting the import he had always regarded his weapons with. He took two scantily ornate, though obviously lethal daggers, into his hands and spun them twice in the air, testing the weight and feel of it in his hands. It fit well to his palm, and despite that they were not the blades he had carried for centuries, they would do. Fixing the scabbards to his belt, he looked up at Will and nodded.

Legolas followed the angry boy at a calm pace. One clear thing he had concluded during the wait for Will to awaken was that he was most probably going to have to wait for Gandalf to get him back to Middle-Earth – as the wizard _was_ the one who brought him here. And in the meantime, he would search for his own way back home. Or some form of contact, at the very least. He trusted the wizard enough to have hope and faith that he would soon somehow get an explanation of the events that had procured, but knew very little of any means that could possibly result in that.

Another thing that helped him come to this conclusion was the fact that he had meticulously searched every nook and crevice of Will's bedroom – the place he found himself in upon first awakening in this new world. If there had been any way – any remote evidence or residue of magic drifting in the air – Legolas knew he would have sensed it. Thus, the lack of any sort of abnormality left him adrift, eventually bringing him to decide to forgo patience and seek the Wizard out himself. There was no time to squander, after all – the Ring was still very much in his possession, something of which he could not let himself forget, despite how much he would liked to have done so.

Following Will and silently rejoicing in the light of day, Legolas peered at the streets of the small port. There were still many things littering the ground – shards of glass, pots and pans, random little trinkets – but there was little of value left lying, and relatively few spots of blood that his eyes could catch. Whatever casualties they had suffered had been relatively little, then. The aims of the pirates were merely to pillage – unless….

"Would they have come for Sparrow? The other pirate?"

Will shot him an incredulous look, before he narrowed his eyes and then fixated them on his path. A quiet, steady loathing filtered into his voice. "Pirates have no morals. They would sooner slit the throats of their leader than come back for one of their own. To them, one less man is one less to split the booty with."

It was common thievery, but the ferocity of the attack left him adrift. These were somehow no mere thieves – it was something more organized, more orchestrated. There had been no such things he had heard of in Middle-Earth – but there was also little watercraft used in war, not to the extent that he had seen of the black ship the night before, save for the legendary Corsairs of Umbar, though he had never laid eyes upon them….

"Commodore Norrington," Will called, his steps quickening as they approached a small, shaded dais alongside the bounds of the fort.

Legolas observed cautiously as a tall man of regal-bearing lifted his chin a fraction and spared the fleetest of glances at the elf before saying with thinly veiled impatience to one of the red-coated soldiers beside him, "Mr. Mullroy, Murtogg, remove these men." The soldiers, one a plump man, and the other a taller, thinner one, brandished strange, long weapons of sorts, glancing at the young blacksmith in hesitation, before reluctantly starting towards the boy.

Will, however, was either stubborn or was used to this sort of treatment, Legolas thought, the skillfully elegant way he stepped out of Murtogg's reach and weaved his way to the table where this mister Commodore was standing, poring over a chart. Legolas turned his gaze to the man, immediately noticing the air of dignity, similar to that of Aragorn's, though muted in strength. Sharply eyeing the man, Legolas took note of the concise movements, controlled words.

"They've taken her – "

"I am very well informed of that, Mister Turner," Norrington interrupted, not letting the Will's outbursts break his concentration. His tone seemed indifferent, but a trickle of anger was starting to bleed through the patience, and Legolas shifted his eyes to Will, wondering if the younger man would choose to stop his assault.

Stance one of both pleading and determination, Will went on, fists curled tightly. "We must go after her – we must save her!" In his voice there was a thick resolve, and not for the first time, Legolas wondered about the boy. He could be so soft-spoken, and then so fierce…his calm belied the strength this boy had; and in this wispy, already known but not yet acknowledged realization, Legolas felt humbled for not the first time by one of the human race. He kept it to himself, and showed no outward sign of his solidifying trust in the lad, but he somehow felt it less ginger to breathe. The tense muscles relaxed and the weight about his neck seemed lighter.

"And where do you propose we start?" a voice asked, voice quavering in the slightest. "If you have _any_ information concerning my daughter, please share it." Another man who had been pacing to the side – older than both Will and Norrington – with a plump, kindly face and white hair, approached Will swiftly. Legolas found himself looking into devastated blue eyes, a sort of pain that he had seldom seen in others. His life outside of Mirkwood had been limited by his protective father, and thus he had never known the sorrow of loss or death quite as the others in the Fellowship, or even most elves knew.

Will's eyes locked on to those of the elder man, and his jaw firmed though he made no move to speak. A thick silence descended upon them, and more than only Legolas felt the tension in the air.

Hesitantly, Legolas stepped forward. "What of Sparrow, Master Commodore? Perhaps he knows something that may aid us in this." He addressed the figure he felt was in charge – Norrington – and his soft-spoken words floated, wavered, then dispersed in the air as the others turned their eyes to him.

James Norrington raised his eyes to the figure standing before him, for the first time wholly observing the one standing before him. Blue eyes so sharp that he could not hold his gaze for long without feeling comfortable, Norrington's sharp observations noted the oddly royal clothing the lad wore, the quality of the gauntlets and leather and silk of the tunic speaking highly of the young man's status. And the boy didn't quite…look like a boy, either. He was quite tall, yes – about the same height as he himself, though almost identical to the stature of his wayward companion, William Turner. Hair shining finer than any silk James Norrington had ever set his eyes on flowed freely about the lad's shoulders, and he looked not a day older than nineteen, though somehow he regarded these assumptions dubiously. He seemed more effeminate than most would warrant these days, but carried an air of dignified pureness – like nothing could touch him, not really. Norrington took note of the polite words, regal bearing, serious face…and he immediately felt both inklings of respect and suspicion blooming in his mind.

What if this boy – who had never before graced the cobble-stone paths of the small island trading post – had been among the fleet of pirates who had so ruined them only the night before?

He did not credit the thought, but did not dismiss it either. "I have never seen you in Port Royal before," Norrington finally said, frowning slightly, even as he gave a customary tilt of the head. If anything, he knew nobility when he saw it. "If you do not mind my asking, who are you and what brings you here?"

Legolas blanched. What _was_ he supposed to say? Middle-Earth didn't exist here, so is heritage would mean nothing. He exchanged a furtive glance with Will. Stranger here or not, he'd rather not give them his true name, just in case a plot of the Eye came afoot. What if the Nine – or even others – had been sent after him? "My name is…."

"His name matters not – " Will heatedly interrupted, being cut off as well in turn.

"Lasgalen," Legolas interjected Will's sad attempt at changing the subject. By the look of rapt curiosity on the faces of those around him, he knew that he would be held under scrutiny until he was forced to answer. "My name is Lasgalen Laiqualasse."

For a moment, when no one said anything, Legolas felt anxiety pound at his heart, but then Norrington raised a more than slightly disdainful eyebrow. "French, is it?" He gave Legolas one more fleeting look over before turning back to the map.

"Yes," Legolas agreed confusedly, deciding that that sounded safe enough. "I am…here on a quest, of sorts." Yes. One to return the Ring and himself back to Middle-Earth. He was uncomfortable lying of his origins, but they lacked the time and credibility to truly explain his, ah, _unique_ situation to the Commodore. "Nevertheless, if there is any way I may aid this situation, I would like to do so. Master Turner has been _most_ kind." At his mention of Will, Norrington's eyes flickered in an irritated manner before going back to them map.

Mullroy, the plump man suited in red who had feebly attempted restraining Will before now stepped forward beside Legolas. "Don't mind my saying, sir," he said, "but Mister Laiqualasse has a point. That Jack Sparrow. He talked about the _Black Pearl_."

Somehow, this caught Norrington's interest, and he jerked upwards sharply, leveling an intent stare at his subordinates. The other soldier – Murtogg – also stepped forward slightly, interjecting with a drooping brow, "Mentioned it, is what he did, more like."

Eagerly jumping back into the fray, Will turned confidently back to the Commodore, defiance and agitation still painted clearly for all to see in his restless movement. "Ask him where it is," he implored, though coming dangerously close to sounding demanding – something that Legolas was sure would not help the situation. "Make a deal with him. He could lead us to it."

Norrington let his eyes linger blankly on the young man standing before him for only a moment longer before giving a slight shake of his head. "No…the pirates who invaded this fort left Sparrow locked in his cell – ergo, they are not his allies." He swiftly turned his face back to the older man still standing among them. "Governor, we will establish their most likely course – "

Will raised the hatchet in his hand and even Legolas was surprised to see it embedded into the map – the wooden table beneath it – and turned his eyes to the simmering blacksmith. "That's not good enough!"

Silence rang in the warm afternoon air, and despite the sweet breeze brushing past them, a certain amount of tension had descended upon the small group. James Norrington slowly turned back to the table, gently pulled the hatchet out of its nest, and walked around to pull Will slightly side. Legolas did not move, but averted his eyes. His elven hearing would provide that he would catch every word anyway, something he heartily felt would come in handy in this new world.

Will was looking away from the Commodore's face as the man spoke with hushed words. "Mister Turner. You are not a military man, you are not a sailor." Each word dripped from the man's mouth with a unique flavor of scorn and impatience. "You are a _blacksmith_ – and this is _not_ the moment for rash actions." His voice dimmed even further. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here that cares for Elizabeth." Handing back the hatchet, Norrington nodded towards Legolas – in obvious dismissal – before returning back to the Governor's side.

* * *

Jack Sparrow could not believe his luck.

Well, more like he couldn't believe the _lack_ of it. Idly sitting in his dark, bleak cell, he glanced mournfully at the gaping hole in the brick of the next cell over. There were no words to describe his irritation at the powers that be – for he had also, in the ample time given to him spent in the dank, dark cell, decided that he _did_ believe in a higher power. Yes – one that had a distinct penchant for cursing him with the very worst of every situation! First the mutiny, then those eunuchs (he shuddered), and now being locked into a dungeon awaiting his own beheading, just as freedom was a hole two feet off from where it _should_ have been.

He rocked back where he was sitting, leaning against the cool brick of the jail. Well, it didn't matter anyway, he reassured himself, dismissing all and any negative feeling with all the ease of a Buddhist monk (or so he liked to think). He was Captain Jack Sparrow! Nothing could go wrong.

With that enlightening thought in his mind, he cheerfully went about continuing the business of trying – and failing – to find a way out. He was sure that if he repeated the process several times, with enough accumulated unsuccessful attempts, the higher powers might possibly take pity on him and _move_ that hole! Or better yet – make _another_ one! Right _there_. Preferably in a manner that would avoid any and all injury to his person. He stared at the wall of his cell, and imagined an exit there, leaving him free instead of the others who had been crowded into the next cell over only the night before. Oh, how he could clearly envision himself, standing glorious outside, silhouetted by the torchlight, smirking and calling something like "sorry mates" over his shoulder, before prancing off to steal himself that pretty boat. Ship.

He cleared his mind again, before sitting up and glancing around. There had to be a better way for him to get out. Maybe that dead soldier over there had dropped something? His eyes inadvertently drifted to where the man lay, face smothered against the ground, one arm crushed underneath his body and the other outstretched, blood pooling at his head. Jack sobered as he remembered the night before.

Twigg and Koehler had – unwittingly, he supposed, if they could be counted for having had any wit in the first place – revealed to him something _very_ interesting indeed. The nature of their curse was the stuff of legend: in the moonlight, the cursed were revealed in their true form, that of a skeleton. By all other means they were dead – dead walking amongst the living. If his logic was correct, which it altogether most likely would not be, there would be no point in attacking them, even if – _when_ – he escaped from the prison and made it to Tortuga.

They were already dead – and until that curse was lifted, he would be hard-pressed to really regain the _Black Pearl_ from the mutinous crew that had landed him in this situation in the first place. He narrowed his eyes and shook himself free of those thoughts. As soon as he could find himself some rum, he'd be able to think of a way to do this. But before he could, he needed to get _out_ of this jail! Darting his hands through the bars, Jack quickly sat up on his knees and grabbed the bone that he had left there the night before to give a shot at escape attempt number two hundred and seventeen.

Sticking the bone into the keyhole from the other side of the lock, Jack put his ear against it and listened as he jiggled the mechanisms within. "Please…." The hope for escape that he had been so suppressing overtook him again and he jabbed the bone fiercer into the keyhole.

The same screeching he had heard the night before sounded suddenly, and Jack automatically left the bone where it was – still in the keyhole – and threw himself to the ground, settling himself into a casual position, staring at the ceiling as he put his "it wasn't me" expression firmly into place. They were coming to execute him.

As the soft pattering of footsteps halted, Jack found himself wondering who it was. His eyes darted upwards and he felt a slight jolt of shock flit through him at the sight of not one, but _two_ figures standing there. A soft glow emanated from their direction, lighting up the gray jail. He maintained his nonchalant façade, though, and continued to fix his gaze on the ceiling. It was an ugly one – gray concrete all around and deep crack allowing for water to drip through, especially in that one corner over there –

"You. Sparrow!"

"Aye," Jack nearly exclaimed, stilling his movements and looking over with wide eyes. It wasn't him, it wasn't him…. Was it time for his execution yet? Would they be hanging him or would they choose to gut him with a – wait a second. _Wait…just one second_. He felt like he was missing something, and didn't like the confusion that flittered through his mind, before he remembered that that was quite a normal occurrence for him anyway. What were the eunuchs doing here? _Figures that Bootstrap's son is the one that hunts me so ardently…._ _No luck, I tell you, absolutely no luck._

Leaving no room for hesitation, dark eyed boy immediately began his interrogation. "You are familiar with that ship – the _Black Pearl_?"

Jack didn't move. _Just found meself a way out._ "I've heard of it." He shook himself to ease his muscles, and lazily looked back up at the ceiling. It was looking much better, now that he knew he wouldn't be staring at it much longer.

"Where does it make berth?"

Jack laughed from where he was – a harsh laugh leaving his throat in a smoothly frayed tenor, lacking any amusement. "Where does it make berth? Have you not heard the stories?" He glanced over to find two intense gazes fixed on him. He ignored the – wench, he knew not what else to call it, for he could hardly find it in himself to consider the creature male (_argh, just…too…pretty…_!) – and focused on the dark eyed boy instead. "Captain Barbossa and his crew of miscreants sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is."

The wench (as Jack decided to start calling it) was staring at him in a peculiar manner, and it made the pirate nervous. What _was_ it about those eyes? They were not blue so much as they were tinted steel…and lots of other things that Jack Sparrow decided not to dwell on. The wench frowned as it said, "The ship is real enough. Therefore its anchorage must be a real place. Where is it?"

Trying hard not to let his smirk _completely_ overtake his face, Jack raised a dirty hand and picked at his nails. Raising a devilish eyebrow, and knowing the answer, he asked in a sultry tone, "Why ask me?"

The dark eyed boy frowned, and his reply was more than amusing. With a little pout and wrinkling of his nose, like the answer was _really_ that simple, he answered, "Because you're a pirate."

"And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?"

Immediately a flush lighted the boy's cheeks and his fists clenched on the bars of the prison, the only thing keeping Jack from escaping to freedom and the boy from strangling his neck. "_Never_!" Calming, fists loosening from their tight hold, he added a bit more quietly, though no less fierce, "They took Miss Swann."

"Oh, so it _is_ that you've found a girl, aside from this wench," Jack said heartily, gesturing to the blond standing beside his darker counterpart.

"I am _not_ a – "

"Well," Jack interrupted, loudly cutting off the incensed denial, "if you're intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue, and so win fair lady's heart – " his words dangled tantalizingly in the cool air of the prison, " – you'll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me."

The pirate relished in observing the boy at that moment. The poor lad looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel somewhere important, somehow tempered by the calm and patient – though still frowning from the wench comment – light-featured boy standing slightly behind him. His eyes suddenly narrowed – how was _that_ possible? – was that glow from before coming from the wench itself?

"I can get you out of here."

The words startled Jack into attention and he looked at the boy disdainfully. "How's that? The key's run off." Thrice damned dog.

The boy explained that he'd helped to build the cells and that with the "right leverage and proper application of strength" the door would come free. Jack didn't understand much aside from that, anyway, the boy had started on something too technical for him to care enough about to get his mind around. Well, whatever. As long as he got out.

Sitting up, he watched the young man point at hinges and talk more about its construction, suddenly wondering if he had it all right. Bootstrap wasn't capable of producing intelligent offspring, was he? _The lad must've gotten it from his mother's side_. "What's your name?"

The boy paused and answered haltingly. "Will Turner."

"That will be short for William, I imagine. Good, strong name. No doubt named for your father, eh?"

The dark eyes were quickly growing suspicious, and the boy brushed a strand of dark, culy hair from his handsome face. "Yes."

Jack thought hard for a moment as he nodded. Good. Very good. He'd be getting out, getting a ship, and reclaiming the _Pearl_, all in one go. Despite the trouble the lad might cause, he'd serve his purposes well. "Mister Turner, I've changed me mind." He sat up, and this time turned to face the two standing before him. "If you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death I shall take you to the _Black Pearl_ and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord?"

The boy was reaching his hand out to shake his own before the wench's hand shot out and gripped Turner's hand, preventing the deal from being sealed. The wench fixed his stare with all the weight he could muster – not that he needed to, in Jack's opinion. "I am coming along as well, Master Sparrow. That will also be part of this accord." At Jack's reluctant nod, the wench continued, "I will warn you now. Any hint of deception, I will not hesitate to restrain you and strip you of your weapons."

"Yes, yes," Jack nodded, rolling his eyes and wavering on his feet impatiently. First chance he got, he'd be shoving the wench off the boat. Ship. Nothing would stand in the way of him and his effects!

"And no more calling me a wench," the wench said, looking at the pirate sternly.

Jack froze.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at Turner in disbelief before turning back to the wench. He looked over the wench again. Clean hair, pretty face – no facial hair, even – fancy clothes and pouty demeanor. And _glowing_. Yes, it was glowing, and despite that he'd been to Singapore, Jack had never seen such a thing. He felt confusion tickle at his mind, and grew the more impatient for it. "Well, then, what would you have me call you? If you're not a wench, then what _are_ you, mate?"

"I am an elf," the wench replied, voice and manner calm. Strange how the Turner boy hated pirates so, yet accompanied one that spoke to him without the usual disdain that all others held for pirates in general. "I come from a far away place and this is not the time for an explanation. You will address me properly else we leave you here to face the order of execution placed upon you."

Jack didn't let his scowl show through more than a simple sway of his body, something which he did so often that it made no difference. So this…elf-wench…was "special," one way or another. It explained the glowing, at the very least. But the elf was also disillusioned, had no trust in him. He'd have a more difficult time getting what he wanted, maybe…but still, there was time. "Very well, mate. Elf, wench – it's all the same in my book. What say ye?"

The elf gave a nod, released Turner's arm, and stepped back, poised and at attention. Still glowing prettily. Well, maybe they could put that to some use in Tortuga. He shook the Turner boy's hand and then clapped his hands, standing back. "Now get me out!"

* * *

Elizabeth Swann glared hollowly at the door. Barbossa hadn't entered the dining room since he'd left the night before, and for that she was thankful. She had no desire to spend more time than necessary in the company of the lecherous pirates.

Cautiously peering out of the window over her head, making sure there wasn't anyone peeking in, she stretched from the huddled position she'd been in since the night before, trying to ease her weary msucles to relax from their hours spent trembling. Twisting her back slightly and feeling better at each pop of her joints, she stood and inched towards the table, still stockpiled with food. She hadn't had the chance to eat much before her attempt to escape, and was too afraid through the night to try to get any more.

Reaching for the plate she'd left mostly intact from the night before, she took it back to another corner, most obscure and without a window nearby, and sat, placing the plate on her lap. Taking her time and not ravaging the turkey leg like she had earlier – helped by the fact that she found that she lacked the appetite, her mind wandered back to the terrible events of the night before, and the terrible medallion that hung from her neck.

The medallion was one of eight hundred and eighty two pieces that they'd scattered from a chest of Aztec gold – _Of course they ignored the warnings_, Elizabeth thought darkly of the pirate crew, grinding her teeth more than she needed to on the piece of bread she was chewing. Each one had to be found and returned to the chest, along with a bit of the blood of the one who had removed each medallion from whence it came. And they wanted her blood for the coin she never took.

At first, a fear had clung to Elizabeth's heart – now that she wore the medallion, would she become a skeleton under the light of the moon? Almost immediately the rational side of her mind struck this idea down. No, she had held the medallion for eight years now, and it had no such repercussions on her. And what of Will – Will Turner?

She had taken the medallion from him the moment they met, on the crossing from England eight years prior. If Will had been one to have taken a medallion from the chest, he'd have been cursed too. Was he? Elizabeth thought hard…when had she seen him after dusk, anyway? Never. Except, of course, in her dreams – _silly dreams for another time_, she scolded herself, picking up her fork and viciously stabbing into a potato, bringing the chunk to her mouth and biting down hard.

No, no. Assuming that Will _had_ been one to have stolen a medallion from the chest, and was cursed, wouldn't he have wanted to end the curse as well and collaborated with the pirates? He wouldn't have toiled in Port Royal for eight years. And though possible, how would such a young child have been in such company in the first place? The fact that she herself had held the gold without becoming cursed herself proved that for the curse to take effect, she would have had to stolen the medallion from the chest directly.

Ooh, this was difficult, Elizabeth found herself thinking, trying to tell herself to let it go for a moment to enjoy the meal and get the rest she needed. _Stop it,_ she told herself, _just quiet yourself in there_. Her thoughts stilled for moments, before she imagined her own voice yelling loudly in her ears, _Think, think, THINK_! She lapsed back into her previous train of thought and continued to focus, absently breaking off a stale piece of bread and bringing it up to her mouth to nibble on.

All right. All right, so Will _most likely_ did not take the coin out of the chest directly, and was not cursed. No, maybe Will found it. Or someone gave it to him. Why would the pirates want _his_ blood, though? For though he held it, he wasn't the one who…unless…. Someone sharing his blood…had…taken it…?

In her excitement, she didn't notice that the thing she'd bit hard on between her teeth wasn't any sort of food, but her cheek. Quieting herself before a yelp escaped her lips, she held her hand to her mouth, smarting painfully. Several curses that would put her father to shame, if he ever knew of her frequent use of them, drifted into the air through her muffled whimper, and she stifled the sting as her hands traveled to the chain and she wore around her neck. Putting aside the now-empty plate, she pulled out the medallion and brought it before her eyes, letting the light glint off its smooth surfaces and crevices.

She had always felt a sense of thrill when she had looked at it, and whenever she was too tired to sleep or bogged by daydreams it had made an appearance. Otherwise she'd kept it in the secret compartment of her drawers, out of sight and mind. She had never come to terms with the unease she had from taking it from Will – though she reminded herself that it had been for his own protection. Captain Gillette – then a first-mate – had searched Will himself in order to ensure that the boy was not a danger to the crew or people of Port Royal. Had they found the Aztec gold, they would have known for sure that the boy had had dealings with pirates and would have imprisoned, enslaved, or – most likely – hanged him. There was no sympathy for pirates.

It had held such a promise of adventure to her in her youth. But now, with the cool metal in her palm, she could only feel a tense coil of fear in her stomach, a fickle tingling of disgust for what it would take to break the curse. Then she remembered the skeletons outside, and she hurried to put the coin away, as though the eyes from its embedded skull could see her watching it, and would somehow turn her into a monstrosity, too. Tucking it neatly back into the folds of her gown – borrowed and sullied, but still beautiful – her body eased itself into a less tightly wound spring.

She shuddered as her eyes drooped slowly, hunger sated and warm in her corner. Yes, maybe she'd take a rest now – leave the worrying and all that to when it would make a difference – and dream those silly dreams. Maybe they would meld into reality and the one who had introduced her to such trouble would come to get her out of it.

After all, whatever the intricacies of it may be, it _was_ Will's blood they wanted – not hers.

* * *

"Where's your boat?" Will Turner asked Jack Sparrow, as Legolas took a moment to scout the area. They were huddled behind a stack of crates being prepared for the trade ships coming and going from the industrious port. In broad daylight. Legolas wondered if there was a point to all their skulking, as they were bound to get caught anyway, but kept his silence.

"Ship. I'm _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, and me ship…" Jack gave a grin, shrugging his shoulders as he did so, "I'm in the market, as it were."

Will blinked at him before scowling and giving a roll of his eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he asked Legolas, "How are we faring?"

Legolas turned to the two men crouching beside him and with a delicate tone, betraying his rather thin calm, he replied, "I do not claim to have any idea of what sort of foolery runs through your thoughts, Sparrow, but I would compel you to speak of your intentions." He shifted his feet, absently relishing the feel of sand beneath his fingers. "Whatever you may be planning to do, speak of it and let us get this over with." He did not let himself look over the sea to the ships just yet; that ache inside him was back, gently tugging at his heart. It was faint, for now, but would it be the same in Middle-Earth? Worse? Would he not have the affliction at all, as he had not seen the sea he was called to sail?

Will grunted derisively, reminding Legolas of Gimli all over again and pulling him out of his rampaging thoughts. "Well, obviously we're going to have to steal a ship." The young man looked towards the sea and lifted his chin in the direction of a ship with its sails ready and rippling in the wind. "That one?"

"Commandeer," Jack was quick to correct, eyes narrowing as he peered at the vessel. "We're going to _commandeer_ that ship. Nautical term." He looked off into the distance a moment longer, before glancing at the two beside him out of the corners of his kohl-traced eyes, squinting in the bright light of the sun. "One question about your business, boys, or there's no use going." He turned to Legolas first. "What's your business with the lad and why are you coming? You wouldn't happen to be hunting for a lass yourself?"

"Nay," Legolas said, shaking his head. "I am looking for…" he faltered, before his mind belatedly supplied him with the correct name he shouldn't have hesitated on, "someone by the name of Gandalf. I know nothing of this place, but I have reason to believe that he may be in the general area, or that I may find information on his whereabouts. Will is my guide here, and in turn I will help him find Miss Swann."

"And you, boy," Jack said, turning to Will, lingering on the elf only a slight moment before casting his suspicions away. "This girl – how far are you willing to go to save her?"

Will's steady gaze met the pirates'. His dark eyes smoldered as he clenched his hands around the edges of one of the crates they were hiding behind. "I'd die for her."

"Oh, good. No worries, then." Starting to move beyond the crates and out into the open, Jack motioned for them to follow. Exchanging glances, Will and Legolas began to move forward. Despite that Sparrow was mad – something both the elf and lad had heartily agreed on earlier – he was their only chance at accomplishing their goals, and they were willing to take it.

Jack quickly darted forward across the beach, not checking to see if the other two were keeping pace. He was sure they were, as the biggest impression he had gotten of the two were that they were intense worriers. They had no confidence in his skills whatsoever! Especially the Turner boy. Never mind that – they'd soon learn what the name _Captain Jack Sparrow_ truly implied.

That he was the best damn pirate ever.

That's why when Will and Legolas ducked under a boat he had swiftly overturned and began inching forward into the water with him, he was able to forgive Will's grouchy demeanor. "This is either madness or brilliance," the Turner boy was muttering.

"Madness," Legolas answered flatly. Jack's head was already shaking side to side with a small smirk directed at the other two thrown over his shoulder.

"It's remarkable how those two traits often coincide, isn't it?" Making it to the ship with more or less no incident – though getting his foot stuck in the deteriorating crate left Will in an even more simmering disposition than before – they swiftly made it to the side of the _Dauntless_, as the ship was dubbed, and climbed up it silently, making sure the sounds of the sailors masked their own.

"Are we to take them all on?" Will whispered as soon as all three had made it to the edge of the deck, peering over in order to see the bustling feet of the sailors.

"More like throw them all off," Jack rephrased brightly, features perked as he leaned over and stared longingly at the helm. "Only for a bit." Before Will or Legolas could ask him what he meant by that, Jack shook his head slightly to silence them and heaved himself up and over the rail onto the deck.

For a moment, Legolas considered staying where he was to hopefully watch the sailors make Sparrow rue the day he ever dreamed of beating such odds. Then he considered the number of times he himself _had_ beaten such odds, and found himself on the deck, sword raised and ready, looking at the affronted sailors steadily.

"Everyone stay calm!" Sparrow yelled unnecessarily, as there was hardly any panicking going on. "We are taking over this ship."

"Aye! Avast!" Will, Legolas noted, seemed taken with the idea of _commandeering_ a ship. Surprising, really, how far he'd bend for this girl.

Unsurprising, however, that all the sailors laughed at that. One man, obviously the leader, flicked his glance over Will with an irritated look before kindly _informing_ them, "This ship cannot be crewed by three men." Here he laughed derisively. "You'll never make it out of the bay."

Jack listened in an amusing fashion – he looked as if he'd eaten something that tasted more disgusting than not, mouth twisted, head titled, and eyebrows raised – before simply lifting his gun to the man's head and explaining, "Son…I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?" Within moments, the crew of the _Dauntless_ was reduced to hurrying back towards shore in a life-boat, while Jack readied his followers to take the _Inceptor_ as soon as it pulled up and its masters swung onto the _Dauntless_.

And so with those words, nearly ten minutes later Commodore Norrington found himself watching the _Interceptor_ sail away from the _Dauntless_, looking through his spy-glass as the pirate, blacksmith, and French nobleman set off into the sulking skylight.

Beside him, Lieutenant Groves watched with narrowed eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest, standing straight. "That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen."

Norrington seethed, tossing down the spy-glass and leaning forward. Through gritted teeth and obvious reluctance, he replied, "So it would seem, Mister Groves. So it would seem."

**end the worst pirate ever**

* * *

****

**Disclaimer:** Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note:** I must sincerely apologize – this is the kind of stuff that I need to wade through before getting to the better parts. I must also apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I graduated! I finished high school so. There's something that doesn't happen all the time, and I lived it up. Next chapter is already underway; this chapter has been reviewed by Sidhe so thank you very much, my dear co-wench!

And from my terrible Elvish, I gathered that "Lasgalen Laiqualasse" roughly means "Greenleaf of Greenness" in a mix of Quenya and Sindarin. I'm hopeless ;)

See you all next chapter :)


	5. two houses

of gilded blood  
**chapter IV two houses**

_"No, 'tis not so deep as a well  
Nor so wide as a church door,  
But 'tis enough, 'twill serve:  
Ask for me tomorrow  
And you shall find me a grave man.  
I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.  
A plague on both your houses!_"  
Mercutio, Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet Act III Scene I

Aragorn wandered through the thickets of the Golden Wood's mallorn trees, feet falling to the ground lightly though his heart was heavy with the worry that had descended upon him since Moria. _Cursed hole,_ he thought spitefully. There they had lost the unthinkable – simply the _unloseable_, and there was no clear way to fix it.

_And clear or not_, a little voice whispered to Aragorn, _there might not be a way to fix anything_. Legolas could die where he was, he could get hurt, he could be expelled from Middle-Earth forever. He may never see his home again. And the one ring would be lost with no end to the destruction and torture that Sauron wrought. The steady trickle of guilt and regret that told him it was somehow _his fault_ that mingled with his grief to form a flood of such power that he felt something in him tighten with each step he took.

Pushing errant strands of hair behind his ear, Aragorn straightened himself up, letting his jaw work for a few moments before swallowing his sorrow and readying himself for what he knew would be a terrible confrontation. It would do no good for him to be consumed by this – not yet, not now – he could not lose hope when he himself was the one named for it.

At least Elrond himself wouldn't be here, Aragorn rationalized, not feeling so much the better for it. Actually, when he spent another moment deliberating the thought, it made him feel worse. Lord Elrond was the more tempered between him and his fair-haired seneschal, Lord Glorfindel. Lord Elrond was used to it and had had several centuries of practice putting up with it. On the other hand, Lord Glorfindel – though a mighty and wise elf himself – would not stand for such insult as the last time was graced upon the house of Elrond.

It made Aragorn pity King Thranduil, just slightly.

He sighed, a very slight breath of air slivering between his lips. As he approached the inner city, he lifted his head and unclasped his hands from behind his back, long strides more confident.

Suddenly, his feet faltered: he could see, just beyond a little creek and nest of foxes, a figure standing still at the foot of an enormous mallorn. She was wreathed in the color of blackberry currant, wind blowing long, dark strands from her pale, porcelain face, and Aragorn could feel his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as he began to near.

He stopped again, though, when he was a few feet from her. His smile faded at the piercing eyes, full of not peace and calm but muted terror and agony. She was magnificent in her emotion and his thoughts and body slackened in her wake. They stood there, feet from each other, speaking nothing but saying everything.

Minutes passed and Arwen shifted her gaze downwards to the green grass, the years pooling in her eyes as she slightly shook her head to one side. More time passed, and it was as if the entire forest had silenced with them, so utterly decimated Aragorn's thoughts were at the sight of his beloved so deeply in pain.

"…I was told what happened," she said in a quiet manner, still looking down, hands grasping her robes to keep from their trembling. Her voice hadn't held the musical quality it always did. Tears slipped from his eyes but he still couldn't feel himself breathe…. She finally looked up and into Aragorn's eyes, and there, Aragorn could see all his own emotions mirrored back at him. She too had lost a brother.

Slowly he brought his hands forward, then took quick steps in her direction, closing the distance and gathering her into his arms. Arwen stood stock still for a few long moments, making Aragorn even more anxious, but she sagged against him, hands coming to his shoulders to squeeze them tightly. He held her as she shook silently, listened in grave silence as she raised her voice to the sky to join those of others, and mourned for the trials that they knew would come to pass.

* * *

Theodred, son of Theoden, was a young man of stern countenance and steel-thick will. Leader of the forces of the kingdom of Rohan, he was respected as one of their greatest warriors and looked up to as the successor of the throne. In his dark good looks his people found power, and in his blue, gray-flecked eyes, they found hope. His arms were tailored to him, marking him as the prince of the Rohirrim, and his blade had in the short years of his service seen the blood of many orcs.

All of these things, however, did little to deter Èowyn from getting what she wanted from her dear cousin.

"You _must_ let us go with you, Theodred!" she pleaded, raising her hands to grip his arm and keep him from walking away. She worked her frustrated fingers through the sleeves of her gown – abysmal, unpractical thing it was! She much preferred her rougher peasants clothing or – even better – her warrior garb. "Please, you _must_!"

"_Must_ I, Èowyn?" Theodred turned his angry gaze to his cousin, only a year and half younger than himself. "Since when _must_ I do anything?"

"I would beg you, my brother," a quiet voice interrupted from the gate. Both turned to find a broad-shouldered blond man leaning against the door frame, heavy eyes on flitting from one form to the other, finally settling on Theodred. "If not both of us, take her with you."

Èowyn's heart nearly stopped at her brother's words. Theodred straightened, however, looking affronted, and opened his mouth to speak as he fixed his ire on his elder cousin. "What – Èomer – have – have you both lost your _minds_?" He ran his tongue over parched and dry lips, shaking his head, dark hair swirling around his features with each furious movement. "You know that the first place the Orcs will spill to are the Elven kingdoms! You know Rohan and there are safe places for Èowyn to be, but Lothlorien _is not one of them_! Much less for all three of us…."

Èomer stepped forward, rising to the challenge of the debate beautifully. Èowyn's hope soared – _yes, yes_! she cheered her brother on – soon Theodred would give in, he would take her with him, and Èomer too, if she could muster it –

"I am not _fond_ of the idea," Èomer said, nodding his head to acknowledge all of the concerns that Theodred had voiced and shooting Èowyn a glare, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, "nor am I _fond_ of the Golden Woods, or any of those who reside there. From what I have heard, the Elf-Witch is not a hospitable creature." He crossed his arms over his chest, hands gripping his forearms tightly. He gave a moment's pause. "However," he continued, glancing back at Theodred, "I would that you take Èowyn with you."

Theodred furrowed his brow. "To what purpose, Èomer? I must go there for the council, if nothing else. You say yourself that you do not trust these people. What – "

But then he froze, and silenced, and motioned for the other two to do the same. As they heard slow, heavy footsteps approach Theodred's chambers, they faced the doors and waited, wiping their faces of anything that would give even the slightest hint as to what they were speaking of.

A head peeked into the room – black, greasy hair with a pale, greasy face – and once spying the three waiting for him, he paused a moment before stepping inside, gathering the layers of his thick black robes around him as he glided closer.

"Yes, Wormtongue, what is it that you want?" Theodred demanded, tone infused with cold, stiffened fury. Èowyn forced herself not to look away. She hated that man and she hated seeing her cousin like this.

"Oh nothing, really," Grima Wormtongue drawled, voice as oily as his skin. "I merely wanted to, ah, let you know, dear princeling, that there is a small contingent of orcs at the northern border."

"What?" Theodred demanded, feeling his heart beginning to pound loudly in his ears. Maybe this could come to their advantage, if they played their cards right. The forces of Rohan could yet handle raids without much of a problem. "Have you sent the soldiers?"

"Yes, my lord," Grima replied, beginning to slowly back out, bowing slightly as he did so. "I merely wished to let you know." He turned his gaze to the maiden standing beside her cousin's tall form. "I only thought you would like to join your people in battle as you so often do." He gave a small laugh and walked away, and they listened as his footsteps faded into nothing.

There was a terse silence. "I cannot allow for him to learn of where we intend to be," Theodred said, fists clenched, voice taut, but at a lower tone than before. "He has manipulated my father for too long – _too_ _long_! – and Rohan needs aid, Èomer, Èowyn. We cannot hold this on our own." He kept his gaze fixed at the threshold of his room that had been crossed minutes before by someone he'd like no better than to kill.

He loathed leaving his people in a time of need, but for long he had been suspecting that his father's advisor had something to do with the attacks. How did he know so soon that there were orcs at the border? How did Grima of all people learn of these attacks before the cavalry did? There was something in the situation that left Theodred feeling adrift, and all he could grasp onto was the fact that the orcs from Isengard were being sent with the intention of having him killed. His people were dying because they defended him and his family.

"Theodred," Èowyn said softly, this time taking his hands in both of hers, "I fear for not only myself but for my brother if we are to remain here. That foul snake has made it no secret from us that he wishes the throne and he will do anything to get his way! If he ever becomes so bold as to banish or kill you and Èomer, then there truly will be no hope for our kingdom!" She paused in her tirade, willing for her cousin to see what she meant, to understand what she was asking. She saw in the gray-flecked eyes both sorrow and strength and it reinforced her own enough for her to finish what she had begun to say.

Stronger tones colored her words as she gathered confidence in what she was saying, and slower, but with no less urgency, she said, "Take us _both_ with you. We will escape to the elves and find reinforcement from if not them then from Gondor or – or – the dwarves, I know not! Our people are brave and strong, and they will hold Edoras until we return."

Theodred remained silent and stoic for another few moments, before pulling Èowyn into a tight embrace and grasping Èomer's shoulder. "The journey will be long and perilous. Bring only what you must and enough rations to last a fortnight. We will not stop until we reach the sanctity of the Woods and attend the council. No one else saw the message, so we should be safe from discovery."

He pulled back from both of them, and met gazes as strong and spirited as his own. "Take your finest steed, and make sure they are fed and well-rested. Èowyn, you still have your armor – yes? Wear them and disguise your voice. Under the pretense of joining the Riders at the Fords of Isen, we leave at dusk."

* * *

Five days had passed since Moria and Gimli found himself willing for things to remain the way it was: peaceful, silent… no threats of untimely death or doom from Mordor, and basking in the glory that was the Lady Galadriel. The serenity was welcomed, and though he still didn't quite see what elves saw in these _trees_ of theirs, it was a comfortable place to be and the Lorien elves were very kind to him and his companions.

Unlike that Mirkwood elf.

Gimli had no qualms about Legolas. Being the honest dwarf that he was, he could confidently say that Legolas was a rude, intolerable creature that was not trustworthy and undeserving of being one of the Fellowship.

…Except that he had truly shown courage in saving the life of Frodo and Gandalf in Moria. _And_ he had secured the Ring's safety.

_Those things don't count_, he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his beard. Moreover, that whelp's father was the king of Mirkwood – the elf that had imprisoned the twelve dwarves traveling from the Lonely Mountain – Gimli's own father being one of them. And others would be arriving within days to attend the council that the Lady Galadriel had called, with the intent of gazing upon the leaf-brained twit and see how he was coming along. Lucky that she had sent for the others as soon as she saw Legolas fall in the mirror, or else they'd be waiting even longer for the others to arrive.

Ah, but for the irritating tree-hugger that Legolas had been, there was a lot of mourning going on for him. He had seen the stricken expression of the Marchwarden of Lorien, who later quietly explained that he visited Mirkwood quite often and had known Legolas as a mere babe (_however millennia ago that may have been_, Gimli thought haughtily). The singing – which he discovered was the elven way of grieving – had not yet ended; and only increased in volume as elves of Rivendell and Mirkwood and Lindon arrived over time.

And he was not so blind to notice the sag in Aragorn's shoulders ever since Moria.

…And despite how he complained and moaned and groaned about the elf, he hadn't been _that_ bad. Gimli had half enjoyed the banter between them, despite however often and quickly it ended up offending one or the other of them. It was refreshing, somehow, and although the elf didn't have nigh the wit or clever words as he did, he had provided reasonably interesting competition.

"So you must be the son of Gloin."

Used to the fact by now (and especially after the twin sons of Elrond in Rivendell) that elves could move silently at will and that they would always do so, if only for the sake of mischief, he calmly turned to answer, but faltered when he saw who it was. First it was shock – _Legolas_? – but he quickly realized that though this new elf bore a striking resemblance to his fallen companion, he was certainly an older elf and held himself differently. Understanding dawning upon him and anger stirring from deep within, he stood slowly, letting his gaze stay firmly fixed on that of Thranduil.

Thranduil raised a cool eyebrow – _argh, just like the other one_! Gimli thought, almost able to see Legolas' face beside his father's, giving that same infuriating look. Slowly, the elf circled the dwarf, and there was silence between them.

Gimli took the opportunity to observe his foe. He was tall. Oh, he was _tall_, even taller than that brute son of his. His shoulders were much broader, arms doubly muscular – obviously the mark of one who wielded a sword, rather than a bow. His robes were made of fine silks, of greens and browns and golds, and upon his long, elaborately braided and knotted blond hair, he wore a golden crown of leaves, each embedded with emeralds and diamonds and gems as beautiful as those in the dwarven caves Gimli lived in. His facial features were similar to Legolas', but had sharper angles where his son's were softer. His eyes were the same color, but there was no wonder or laughter in his eyes. As if Thranduil was a cold statue, each detail delicately etched and carved into the thickest marble available on Middle-Earth, he peered down at Gimli with contempt.

It was like looking at a bigger and more irritating version of Legolas.

Before either said or did anything, however, to Gimli's utter surprise and consternation, the king looked away and continued to walk past him.

Confused as to what that was all about, the dwarf watched the regal elf disappear beyond the trees. Standing there, appalled and unsure of whether he should be offended by the oddity that the elves were, he could slowly but surely see his peaceful and relaxing days dwindling to a close.

And how right Gimli was. For the very next day, as the dwarf wandered around the Golden Wood, vaguely beginning to wish that the pointy-eared archer were there, if only to provide some interesting debate, the sound of raised voices caught his attention from a clearing further to his left. After a moment of hesitation, in which he pondered the right to privacy versus the amusement of seeing elves bickering with each other, he felt a rush of glee and tamped it down, before slowly, painstakingly, making his way towards the clearing.

He made sure to be careful and quiet as he got closer. There was no slowing in the rapidity of the speech flowing, and reluctantly he rested his success on the lack of attention from those arguing.

Gimli, being a dwarf, hardly understood a word of the furious elvish that was passing between the three people he spied upon in surprise – Thranduil, Aragorn, and another blond elf whom he didn't recognize, but must have been very powerful indeed to face down such expressions as those Thranduil was sending in his direction.

Ah well. He settled for watching anyway – he didn't need to understand elvish to know who lost and who won.

Aragorn, however, had no such luxury. "My Lords, you _must_ put this dissention aside if you are to be of any help during the council."

Thranduil's cold, furious rage extended a fraction of its warmth to the Dunadan. "And who are you to speak so, son of Arathorn? You who has not reclaimed the throne, who has not yet become king, who let two of the company fall in Moria? You are only so lucky that both should still live."

Aragorn was taken aback at those words, stung, though not surprised. He _was_ the leader of the Fellowship, as Gandalf was its guide, and as Legolas had been its eyes and ears…. "Do not blame him for things that he had no control over," Glorfindel said in a clipped tone, quickly coming to ranger's aid. "The choices made were at both Mithrandir's and Legolas' discretion. And I must say that I disagree with neither."

Thranduil's eyes widened at the statement and for a moment, his rage was second to his shock. "You would leave my son to that world!"

"I would say that his choice is what keeps our hopes to destroy the dark one alive, Thranduil," Glorfindel shot back coolly. "He saved both the ring and its bearer. His actions show he was not unprepared for such a quest. You would do well to remember that."

And with dwindling thoughts of reconciliation, Aragorn regretfully watched Thranduil's previously cold wrath turn to something fiery that rivaled even the depths of Mount Doom. He had never before seen the cool, composed elf king act in such a way, and decided that he was definitely lucky that he wasn't Legolas.

"I will not forget this, Glorfindel," Thranduil said, his voice soft but as hard as the gems he was so fond of. "The house you serve has left my people to die before – and I will not allow for it to happen to my son!"

Glorfindel kept his elven stare fixed on Thranduil. Slowly, not budging in the slightest, he replied, "I do grieve for Legolas, Thranduil. Mistake me not – I am not heartless, and I would not leave any of our own to such a fate if it could be helped." He added nothing more, and finally his gaze roved from Thranduil's motionless face to Aragorn's, and giving a simple tilt of his head, the elf of Gondolin turned and left the clearing.

Thranduil and Aragorn stood side by side, watching the elf lord leave. The air was still full of tension, and the leaves of the trees around them had not yet resumed flickering in the wind, it was so still.

"Long have I defended the forests of Mirkwood," Thranduil said darkly, not sparing Aragorn a glance. "And long have my kin. We have none of the aid that Elrond Half-Elven or the Lady have, and danger was a constant in our lives since the construction of Dol Guldur so many years ago." The king's words lowered in volume, but the vehemence was evident in every syllable of what he uttered. "If I must lose my son to the Halls of Mandos, I would not have him fall in the service of _men_."

Practically spitting out the last word, Thranduil spun and left the clearing the opposite way Glorfindel had. Letting out a sigh, Aragorn fought to temper his anger at the king's words. The king had never been fond of their friendship – perhaps, because he knew the pain that the passing of the mortal could cause his son. And though the elf-king did not protect his son from the ferocity of battle, he did all he could to protect his son from whatever he deemed as emotionally trying. Hardly did the king consider that he himself was a source of turmoil for the prince.

A miniscule ruffling of leaves caught Aragorn's attention, and remembering who was there, called in a carrying voice, "You may come out now, Gimli."

There was silence before the rustling grew louder and the stout dwarf emerged from the trees surrounding the edges of the clearing. The other member of the Fellowship joined Aragorn at the center and looked up at him, dark eyes glittering thoughtfully from amongst the bushels of beard and hair.

They both contemplated the argument between the lords of Rivendell and Mirkwood before Aragorn indulged himself to a wry comment. "Well, that went better than I thought it would."

* * *

Jack Sparrow had very odd taste in his choice of place to go, Legolas noted to himself as they stepped off the _Interceptor_ and made their way, stumbling amidst boulders, towards the bright lights and loud voices in the approaching distance. The exhilaration of sailing for the first time had twisted itself into a fluttering knot in his belly, and tug at his heartstrings.

He glanced at Will to see his reaction to sounds ahead, but found that the boy was still brooding over the earlier conversation he'd had with Sparrow concerning his father. Legolas was only slightly amused that Will Turner – whose dislike of pirates was evident in the simplest of things – turned out to be the son of one. He would hate to be in the boy's dilemma, so refrained from laughing aloud at the irony, but the humor he found in it was still evident to Will Turner, who was not being very forgiving about it.

Sparrow had the logic to dock the _Interceptor_ off to the side of the crescent-shaped isle, so ships coming into the bay would not notice the presence of the stolen ship and its meager crew. "We'll be staying here for a bit," Sparrow told them as they walked along. "The _Black Pearl_ is somewhere around here, and that means your bonny lass will be too."

"How are you sure of that?" Legolas asked softly, speaking if only to drown the empty sound of the waves crashing into the rocks below out of his mind, as he placed a hand upon a rock and used it to balance himself as he stepped on another. "They set out the night before we did, and have been here since this morn, if they were to have made it here at the same speed we have. They may have left hours ago, if they ever stopped here at all."

"You don't know them like I do." Sparrow's dark tone made Legolas glance over at him, eyes narrowed slightly in concern. Whatever it was about the crew of the _Black Pearl_ had certainly left Sparrow both bitter and vengeful. And a man bent on revenge was hardly one Legolas felt he could trust.

Either way, Sparrow was likely to know what he was doing, and also to use whatever advantage came his direction. He and Will were safe for the while, but there was still a lurking suspicion that there was more to it than just Sparrow agreeing to help out the son of his old friend.

They finally arrived at the buildings, dirty wooden structures with bare yards. Though there was no one near, the noise could be heard much clearer, and Legolas had to work a moment to tune out the ruckus. "Come this way," Sparrow said quietly, placing a hand on his arm and gently steering the other two towards a back alley that ran between two of the cabins. He seemed unable to keep a grin from playing on his features.

"You'll love it here, lad," Jack told Will, clapping him on the back. "There's a thing or two you could learn, if I say so meself."

"Like what?" Will asked confusedly, glancing at Legolas to see if he understood what the pirate was getting at. Legolas merely shrugged, not knowing what else Will could learn in such a sty other than how to make a lot of racket.

"Many a good thing!" Jack answered rather magnanimously, waving his arms around as he said so. As more and more light began to filter and the voices became louder, Jack added, "More importantly, it is indeed a sad life that has never breathed this sweet, proliferous bouquet that is Tortuga."

They finally reached the end of the alley, and Legolas' eyes were assaulted by the utter mess that the village was. Men chasing women, some sitting drunkenly on barrels and others on the balconies with their legs dangling down. Some men held black metal things in their hands that set off fire in the direction they pointed and made such a sound that it felt as though someone had thrown daggers into his ears.

"What do you think?" Jack Sparrow asked, looking first at Will and then Legolas, smiling expectantly. Legolas surmised that he'd never seen the pirate as excited, one could say, as he was now.

"It'll linger," Will said after a moment, eyes wide as he took in the surroundings, though seemingly unsurprised that this was the place Sparrow had been so eager to take them to.

"Unpleasantly," Legolas added after a moment, raising an eyebrow. Maybe this was common for men? He had hardly been to any villages of men, after all, his father had soundly forbidden him from much travel – another reason he'd been so eager to join the Fellowship. _This is what I disobeyed my father and king to see?_

…Well, if nothing else, it didn't leave the eyes with naught to look at.

"I'll tell you, mate," Jack said, moving ahead of the other two now, holding out arms that waved around as if to encompass all that he was saying, "if every town in the world were like this one, no man would feel unloved."

And in this time, they had been noticed by not only one, but several people. However, the first to reach Jack was a woman dressed in swarthy, layered folds of what seemed like once had been a very nice deep red gown. She did not seem friendly, however, judging by the deep scowl and angle of the brows.

Far from being alarmed, as Legolas himself might have been if a woman was approaching him with that expression on her face, Jack seemed overjoyed at the sight of her. "Scarlett!"

The woman, Scarlett, said nothing in reply, and swiftly swung back her arm to bring it forward to land a harsh slap to Sparrow's face before she walked away. Jack recovered after a moment, rubbing the side of his face with a befuddled expression as he watched her leave. "Not sure I deserved that."

"Though _she_ seems to think you did," Legolas said, nodding towards another woman that was stalking towards Jack.

"Giselle!" Immediately the ache seemed to vanish and there was a bright smile upon Sparrow's face.

This woman, who seemed almost more infuriated than Scarlett, glowered as she approached, and her hair framed her darker eyes in a way that made Legolas want to cringe on the pirate's behalf.

Raising a high-pitched and somewhat grating voice, Giselle demanded, "Who was she?"

Jack's face lost the grin and adopted the confused look. "What?"

Legolas did not have to be an elf to have sensed the resounding slap before it came. As Giselle stalked away with a haughty glare, Jack reeled again and admitted in a quiet voice, "I may have deserved that."

"I am in no mood for this," Will said, glancing warily about them. "Where is Elizabeth?"

"Not here," Jack warned, snapping up a hand quickly and scanning the loud drunks around them. He paused a moment, before his eyes locked on a tavern and he started walking towards the entrance.

"You mean to say that we'll be staying _here_?" Will asked in dismay, though in a way that made it clear that he didn't expect anyone to listen to him. The soft complaint was only caught by Legolas' elven hearing, and although he himself might have preferred making camp somewhere along the outskirts of the town, if only to be in the open sky and away from all the absurd racket, he knew there was safety in being among other people. After all, a crowded and busy tavern was hardly the first place one would look for a group of wanted people. Or would they? Backtracking, Legolas decided that his knowledge of the human race did not extend past Aragorn and Boromir, both of whom were exceptional, and that knowledge could hardly be applied to the people here….

Even at the threshold of the entrance the blast of drunken singing and the smell of sweat and rum reached them. Will and Legolas hung back as Jack made room arrangements, and although Will flushed nervously at all the attention that the two seemed to be garnering from the people lounging around the tavern, Legolas was used to the sort of stares he would get from those of other races and ignored them.

"_My boat's by the tower and my bark's on the bay_…" the men at the bar strung up song, and in their sloshed state and slurred tones, Legolas could barely make out the words. "_And both must be gone at the dawn of the day…_"

"What a filthy place," Will commented to Legolas idly, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes wandered the warmly lit establishment. Although the light was nice and undoubtedly gave his two human companions the comfort of clearer sight, it became quite clear that only an intense scrubbing would rid the floors of their layers of dirt. "Though I'd hardly expect a _pirate_ to choose any better –"

"_The moon's on the shroud, and to light thee afar on the deck of the daring's a lovelighted star_…."

Legolas glanced at the lad when he abruptly stopped speaking, and catching the twisted irritation molding the boy's expression, he knew that the boy had again reminded himself that his own father had been a pirate. Stereotypes had stopped applying at that realization, and Legolas did not remain untouched by it. Long had he heard tales of raiders and wild men, which he found at about the same level of villainy as these pirates were. In battle they had seemed like a faceless mob of people, each wearing the same garb and each brandishing the same sword – same, yet different, and he sorrowed for each soul lost, but he felt that at least now he could put faces to these people, even if he thought that there would be none nearly as strange as Jack Sparrow. Indeed.

Impossibly the men's voices seemed to have grown louder. "_And the sails shall be gilt in the gold of the day, and the sea robins sing as we roll on our way_…."

"This way, mates," Jack called over his shoulder as he went for the rickety stairs on the right of the bar. Will seemed to have an internal debate, before he shrugged a shoulder to himself and made to follow. Legolas turned to follow as well, but as he walked past others he felt as if there were eyes on him – not the usual wondering stares – but someone's eyes were _fixed_ on him…

Stopping at the third step he sharply turned his head towards the bar. A row of men littered the area, each holding mugs and bottles of frothy drink…. _Not there, not there_…. Finally his eyes met those that had been lingering on him longer than one would permit, and Legolas felt himself stiffen when he recognized the darkness that pervaded the soul of the man sitting along the far corner, tilting a shot glass to his foul lips in a lazy and self-assured manner. It was as though a haze had fallen over him – he could still hear all the braying and talk around him – dimmed somehow…. The ring weighed heavier upon the chain around his neck….

"_A hundred shall serve - the best of the brave, and the chief of a thousand shall kneel as thy slave_…."

The elven prince stood frozen in shock and silence as the man raised a dark brow and lit up with dark humor, eyes still set on his.

"_And thou shalt reign queen, and thy empire shall last, till the black flag by inches, is torn from the mast_!"

The song finished as the figure lifted his glass to him in a minute, mocking solute, and the only thing Legolas could think was, _How could a servant of Saruman possibly have gotten here_?

**end two houses  
  
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Disclaimer: **Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended. Plot, however, is all mine.

**Author's Note:** I had hoped to have this out at the beginning of the month but made it longer, so I hope that makes up for it. This chapter may have been confusing, so just to clarify: all that occurs on Middle-Earth happens within a week of Moria, while so far, the events in the Caribbean have only covered a few days after Moria. Events in the Caribbean will resume matching up in the next chapter, which I have been waiting to write since starting this fic.

Arwen, Glorfindel, and a few important Lindon elves were already in Lothlorien when the council was called, and that's about all I've covered so far. Thranduil I see as a caring but overbearing father, severe and stern but still very protective of his "cub." More bad blood between Glorfindel and Thranduil will have later consequences in the coming few chapters. Although I chose the Shakespeare quote for this specific chapter, the animosity resulting between the two houses will be an issue and play a bigger role in later chapters.

Pirate song found at www .geocities .com /captcutlass /mu /so18.html (remove the spaces). Lady Russell Holmes has also sent me a work of fan art for **Of Gilded Blood**! Very funny, and you may see it here: img71 .photobucket .com /albums /v217 /ryssellholmes /wench.jpg (remove the spaces). Thank you so much!

For chapter status, I have been regularly updating my author's bio thing. So if you're wondering how far I am in the next chapter, you can check there anytime. Please keep reviewing, I appreciate all feedback :)


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